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THE  WRITINGS  OF 

PROSPER  MERIMEE 

COMPRISING  HIS 

NOVELS,  TALES,  AND  LETTERS  TO  AN  UNKNOWN 

WITH 

An  Essay  on  the  Genius  and  Achievement  of  the  Author 

By  GEORGE  SAINTSBURY,  M.A. 


COMPLETE  IN  EIGHT  VOLUMES 


THE  NOVELS,  TALES  AND  LETTERS 

OF 

PROSPER  MERIMEE 

Edited  by  Pkof.  George  Saintsbury,  M.A. 

COVi  » T'.  j's  IN  Kit;: . »•  v ; ■ v : - 


I'HHONICLE  OF 

i REIGN  OF 

ii  ARLES  IX. 

Translated  by 

PROF.  GEORGE  SAINTSBURV,  M.A. 

With  Illustrations  by 

EDOUARD  TOUDOUZE 


iio  a' Hwynyre- ” — 

NEW  TORlJd.  ,8i  fclowa  f4h^u'l‘  1 

” .bnuow  g'nBiri  ^nuov  orfj  oini  ^rii«qni^8 

J’  P - ^ r^VS’svmb  v>  mvovI 

M C M V I 


“ See,  madam/’  said  she,  " this  scorpion’s  oil 
with  which  I rub  the  sword  is  directed  by  virtue  of 
sympathy  into  the  young  man’s  wound.  ” 

From  a drawing  bj  Edouard  Toudouze. 


THE  NOVELS,  TALES  AND  LETTERS 

OF 

PROSPER  MERIMEE 

Edited  by  Prof.  George  Saintsbury,  M.A. 

COMPLETE  IN  EIGHT  VOLUMES 


A CHRONICLE  OF 

THE  REIGN  OF 
CHARLES  IX. 

Translated  by 

PROF.  GEORGE  SAINTSBURY,  M.A. 

With  Illustrations  by 

EDOUARD  TOUDOUZE 


NEW  YORK  PHILADELPHIA 

FRANK  S.  HOLBY 

MCMVI 


Copyright,  1905 
By  FRANK  S.  HOLBY 


All  rights  reserved 


845 M 54 
TS2.B 
V,  k 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

VOLUME  VI. 

t(  See,  madam/’  said  she,  “ this  scorpion’s  oil  with 
which  I rub  the  sword  is  directed  by  virtue  of 
sympathy  into  the  young  man’s  wound.  ’ ’ (p.  1 57) 

Frontispiece 

From  a drawing  by  Edouard  Toudouze 

PAGE 

The  Captain  returned  the  salute,  and  both  looked  at 

each  other  for  some  time  without  speaking  . . 8 

From  a drawing  by  Edouard  Toudouze 

The  horsemen  were  not  twenty  paces  off,  when  Mergy, 

rising  suddenly,  shouted,  “ Fire!  ” . . . .312 

From  a drawing  by  Edouard  Toudouze 


AUTHOR’S  PREFACE 


I HAD  been  reading  a considerable  num- 
ber of  memoirs  and  pamphlets  relating  to 
the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century.  I took 
a fancy  to  extract  some  of  the  matter  of  my 
reading;  and  the  result  of  the  process  is  the 
present  book. 

Anecdotes  are  the  only  part  of  history  that 
I love;  and  among  anecdotes  I prefer  those  where 
it  seems  to  me  that  I find  a true  picture  of  man- 
ners and  character  at  a given  time.  This  is 
not  a very  dignified  taste;  but  I confess  to  my 
shame  that  I would  willingly  give  Thucydides 
for  some  authentic  memoirs  by  Aspasia  or  by 
a slave  of  Pericles.  For  memoirs  alone,  which 
are  as  it  were  familiar  conversations  of  an  author 
with  his  reader,  furnish  those  portraits  of  human 
beings  which  amuse  and  interest  me.  To  form 
an  idea  of  the  Frenchman  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury you  must  go,  not  to  Mezeray,  but  to  Mont- 
luc,  Brantome,  D’Aubigne,  Tavannes,  La  Noue, 
and  their  likes.  The  very  style  of  these  contem- 
porary authors  teaches  as  much  as  their  matter. 


VI 


AUTHOR  S PREFACE 


For  instance,  I read  in  L’Estoile  this  short 
note : — 

“ The  damsel  of  Chateauneuf,  one  of  the 
king’s  favourites  before  he  went  to  Poland,  hav- 
ing married  for  love  a certain  Florentine  officer 
of  the  galleys  at  Marseilles,  named  Antinotti, 
and  finding  him  in  the  act  of  infidelity,  slew  him, 
manlike,  with  her  own  hands.” 

By  dint  of  this  anecdote,  and  of  many  others 
whereof  Brantome  is  full,  I can  reconstruct  a 
whole  character  in  my  mind,  and  I can  bring 
to  life  again  a lady  of  the  Court  of  Henri  III. 

To  my  fancy,  it  is  curious  to  compare  these 
manners  with  ours,  and  to  note  in  the  latter  the 
decadence  of  vigorous  passions.  Hence,  no 
doubt,  a gain  in  quiet  living,  and  perhaps  in 
happiness.  But  we  have  still  to  find  out  whether 
we  are  better  men  than  our  ancestors;  and  this 
question  is  not  so  easy  to  settle,  for  ideas  have 
greatly  varied  at  different  times  on  the  subject 
of  the  same  actions.  Thus,  about  1500,  a mur- 
der by  dagger  or  poison  inspired  nothing  like 
the  horror  that  it  does  now.  A gentleman  killed 
his  enemy  treacherously;  he  sued  for  pardon, 
obtained  it,  and  appeared  in  society  without  any- 
one dreaming  of  frowning  on  him.  Sometimes, 
indeed,  when  the  murderer  had  a legitimate 
grievance,  men  spoke  of  him  as  they  speak  now 


AUTHOR  S PREFACE 


vn 


of  a man  of  honour  who  has,  in  a duel,  killed 
some  scoundrel  by  whom  he  has  been  grievously 
offended. 

Thus  it  seems  to  me  clear  that  we  must  not 
use  our  nineteenth  century  ideas  in  judging  six- 
teenth century  conduct.  What  is  criminal  in  a 
state  of  advanced  civilization  is  only  a bold  deed 
in  a state  more  backward,  and  in  a state  of  bar- 
barism may  perhaps  be  a laudable  action.  It  is 
generally  felt  that  the  judgment  which  is  passed 
on  the  same  action  must  vary  with  countries  as 
well  as  with  times,  for  between  nation  and  na- 
tion there  is  at  least  as  much  difference  as  be- 
tween century  and  century.*  Mehemet  Ali, 
with  whom  the  Mameluke  Beys  vied  for  the  con- 
trol of  Egypt,  one  day  invites  the  principal 
chiefs  of  his  militia  to  a festival  within  his 
palace  walls;  when  they  are  inside  the  gates  are 
shut;  Arnauts  shoot  them  down  from  behind 
cover  on  the  top  of  the  courtyard  walls,  and  from 
that  time  Mehemet  Ali  reigns  alone  in  Egypt. 
Well,  we  negotiate  with  Mehemet  Ali;  Euro- 
peans even  think  very  highly  of  him;  he  is  held 
a great  man  by  all  the  newspapers ; they  call  him 
Egypt’s  benefactor.  And  yet  what  can  be  more 

* May  not  this  rule  be  extended  to  individuals  ? Is  the  son  of  a thief, 
who  himself  thieves,  as  culpable  as  an  educated  man  who  goes  through  a 
fraudulent  bankruptcy  ? 


Vlll 


AUTHOR  S PREFACE 


horrible  than  to  butcher  defenceless  men  in  this 
way?  As  a fact,  murderous  traps  of  this  kind 
are  sanctioned  by  the  custom  of  the  country,  and 
by  the  impossibility  of  managing  matters  other- 
wise. ’Tis  then  that  the  maxim  of  Figaro,  Ma 
per  Dio , Vutilita , comes  in.  If  a minister  whom 
I will  not  name  had  found  Arnauts  ready  to 
shoot  at  his  orders,  and  if  at  a state  dinner  he  had 
despatched  the  chief  members  of  the  Left,  the 
action  would  have  been,  as  far  as  actual  fact  went, 
the  same  as  that  of  the  Pasha  of  Egypt,  but 
morally  it  would  have  been  a hundred  times  more 
blameworthy.  Yet  this  minister  turned  into  the 
streets  many  Liberal  electors  who  were  small 
government  functionaries,  frightened  the  rest, 
and  made  the  elections  go  as  he  wished.  If  Me- 
hemet  Ali  had  been  a French  minister  he  also 
would  have  taken  no  stronger  measures,  and  in 
the  same  way  the  French  minister  would  doubt- 
less, in  Egypt,  have  been  obliged  to  take  to  the 
fusillade,  turnings  out  of  office  not  being  calcu- 
lated to  produce  a sufficient  moral  effect  on 
Mamelukes. 

The  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew  was  a 
great  crime  even  for  its  own  day;  but,  I repeat, 
a massacre  as  such  in  the  sixteenth  century  was 
not  the  same  crime  as  a massacre  in  the  nine- 
teenth. Let  us  add  that  the  greater  part  of  the 


AUTHOR  S PREFACE 


IX 


nation  took  a share  in  it  or  sympathized  with  it, 
and  armed  in  a body  to  attack  the  Huguenots, 
who  were  held  to  be  strangers  and  enemies.  St. 
Bartholomew  was,  in  short,  a national  uprising, 
like  that  of  the  Spaniards  in  1809;  and  the  citi- 
zens of  Paris,  when  they  cut  the  throats  of  the 
heretics,  had  a firm  belief  that  they  were  obeying 
the  voice  of  heaven. 

It  is  no  part  of  the  business  of  a teller  of 
tales  like  myself  to  give  in  this  volume  a precis  of 
the  historical  incidents  of  1572,  but  as  I have 
mentioned  St.  Bartholomew  I cannot  refrain 
from  setting  forth  certain  thoughts  that  have 
occurred  to  me  as  I read  this  bloody  page  of  our 
i history.  Have  the  causes  which  brought  about 
the  massacre  been  well  understood?  Was  it  long 
premeditated,  or  was  it  not  rather  the  result  of 
a sudden  resolve,  even  of  a chance?  No  historian 
supplies  me  with  satisfactory  answers  to  any  of 
these  questions.  They  all  admit  as  evidence  mere 
street  rumours  and  alleged  conversations,  of  very 
small  weight  in  deciding  a historical  question  of 
such  importance.  Some  of  them  represent 
Charles  IX.  as  a prodigy  of  dissimulation ; 
others  as  a man  of  hasty,  violent,  and  fantastic 
temper.  If,  long  before  the  24th  of  August, 
he  broke  out  into  threats  against  the  Protes- 
tants, it  is  proof  that  he  had  long  been  medi- 


X 


AUTHOR  S PREFACE 


tating  their  destruction;  if  he  paid  attentions  to 
them,  it  is  a proof  that  he  was  dissembling.  I 
will  quote  a single  story  only,  one  repeated  in 
all  the  books,  and  one  which  shows  with  what 
levity  the  most  improbable  rumours  are  ad- 
mitted. 

About  a year  before  St.  Bartholomew’s  Day, 
it  is  said,  a plan  of  massacre  had  been  already 
arranged;  it  was  this.  There  was  to  be  built 
on  the  Pre-aux-Clercs  a wooden  tower;  the 
Duke  of  Guise,  with  a body  of  Catholic  gentry 
and  soldiery,  was  to  be  posted  therein,  and  the 
Admiral  with  his  Protestants  was  to  have  made 
a sham  attack,  as  if  to  give  the  King  a siege  in 
spectacle.  As  soon  as  this  kind  of  tournament 
had  begun,  the  Catholics  were,  at  a signal,  to 
load  their  pieces  and  kill  their  surprised  enemies 
before  they  could  possibly  stand  on  their  guard. 
To  improve  the  story,  it  is  added  that  a favour- 
ite of  Charles  IX.,  named  Lignerolles,  foolishly 
revealed  the  plot  by  saying  to  the  King,  who 
was  using  harsh  language  about  the  Protestant 
lords,  “Ah!  Sire,  wait  a little  longer;  we  have 
a fort  which  will  avenge  us  of  all  the  heretics  ” 
(observe,  if  you  please,  that  not  a stick  of  this 
fort  was  yet  in  position) ; whereupon  the  King 
took  care  to  have  the  blabber  assassinated.  The 
plan,  they  say,  was  devised  by  the  Chancellor 


AUTHORS  PREFACE 


xi 


Birague,  in  whose  mouth,  however,  a saying  is 
put  which  points  to  quite  different  projects — 
the  saying,  that  in  order  to  deliver  the  King  from 
his  enemies  he  wanted  only  a few  cooks.  This 
last  method  was  much  more  practical  than  the 
other,  which  is  so  wild  as  to  be  nearly  impossible. 
How,  indeed,  could  the  suspicions  of  the  Prot- 
estants fail  to  be  aroused  by  the  preparations 
for  this  mimic  war,  where  the  two  parties,  open 
enemies  just  before,  were  to  be  set  at  one  an- 
other’s throats?  while  it  was  but  an  awkward 
way  of  making  the  Huguenots  an  easy  prey  to 
brigade  them  together  and  put  arms  in  their 
hands.  Clearly,  if  the  idea  was  to  exterminate 
them  then,  it  would  have  been  much  better  to 
attack  them  in  detail  and  disarmed. 

But  for  my  part  I have  a strong  conviction 
that  the  massacre  was  not  premeditated,  and  I 
cannot  conceive  how  the  opposite  opinion  has 
been  adopted  by  authors  who  at  the  same  time 
concur  in  representing  Catherine  as  a very 
wicked  woman  no  doubt,  but  also  as  possessing 
one  of  the  most  statesmanlike  heads  of  the  cen- 
tury. Let  us  put  morals  aside  for  a moment, 
and  examine  the  supposed  design  from  the  point 
of  view  of  expediency.  Now,  I hold  that  it  was 
not  expedient  for  the  Court;  and,  moreover,  that 
it  was  so  bunglingly  carried  out  as  to  necessitate 


xii  AUTHOR’S  PREFACE 

the  supposition  that  those  who  devised  it  were* 
the  most  reckless  of  mankind.  Let  anyone  ask 
himself  whether  the  King’s  authority  had  to 
gain  or  lose  by  this  execution,  and  whether  it 
was  the  King’s  interest  to  permit  it.  France  was 
divided  into  three  great  parties:  that  of  the 
Protestants,  of  which,  since  the  death  of  Conde, 
the  Admiral  was  the  head;  that  of  the  King  (the 
weakest),  and  that  of  the  Guises  and  the  ultra- 
royalists of  the  day.  It  is  clear  that  the  King, 
to  whom  the  Guises  and  the  Protestants  were 
equally  objects  of  fear,  was  bound  to  seek  to 
uphold  his  own  authority  by  keeping  these  two 
parties  at  loggerheads.  To  crush  one  was  to 
put  himself  at  the  mercy  of  the  other.  Besides, 
the  see-saw  plan  was  already  well  known.  Louis 
XI.  had  said,  “ Divide  in  order  to  reign.” 

And  now  let  us  see  whether  Charles  IX. 
was  pious;  for  excessive  piety  might  have  sug- 
gested to  him  steps  contrary  to  his  interest.  But 
all  evidence  goes  to  show  the  reverse;  to  show 
that,  if  he  was  not  a freethinker,  he  was  at  the 
same  time  by  no  means  a fanatic.  Besides,  his 
mother,  who  governed  him,  would  never  have 
hesitated  to  sacrifice  her  religious  scruples,  if 
she  had  any,  to  her  love  of  power.* 

* A saying  of  Charles  IX.  has  been  quoted,  as  an  instance  of  profound 
dissimulation,  which  seems  to  me  to  be,  on  the  contrary,  only  the  coarse 


AUTHOR’S  PREFACE 


xm 


But  let  us  suppose  that  Charles,  or  his 
mother,  or  if  anyone  prefers  it,  his  government, 
had  in  the  teeth  of  all  the  principles  of  statecraft 
resolved  to  destroy  the  Protestants  of  France. 
In  that  case,  when  the  resolve  was  once  formed, 
it  is  probable  that  they  would  have  given  mature 
consideration  to  the  means  most  proper  for  as- 
suring success.  Now  one  thing  suggests  itself 
at  once,  as  essential  to  safety,  to  wit,  that  the 
massacre  should  take  place  in  all  the  towns  of 
the  kingdom  at  the  same  time,  so  that  the  re- 
formers, everywhere  attacked  by  superior 
forces,*  might  be  everywhere  unable  to  defend 
themselves.  A single  day  would  have  been 
enough  for  their  destruction;  and  it  was  thus 
that  Ahasuerus  planned  the  massacre  of  the 
Jews.  Yet  we  read  that  the  first  royal  orders 
for  massacring  the  Protestants  are  dated  August 
28th,  that  is  to  say,  four  days  after  St.  Bar- 
tholomew, and  when  the  news  of  that  great 
butchery  must  have  got  the  start  of  the  royal 

sally  of  a man  quite  indifferent  to  religion.  The  Pope  made  a difficulty  of 
giving  the  necessary  dispensation  for  the  marriage  of  Marguerite  de  Valois, 
sister  of  Charles  IX.,  with  Henri  IV.,  who  was  then  a Protestant.  “If  the 
Holy  Father  refuses,”  said  the  King,  “I  will  tuck  sister  Margoton  under 
my  arm  and  take  her  to  be  married  in  full  meeting-house.” 

* The  population  of  France  was  about  twenty  million  souls.  It  was  cal- 
culated that  at  the  time  of  the  second  civil  war  the  Protestants  were  not 
more  than  a million  and  a half  strong;  but  they  were  proportionally 
stronger  in  wealth,  warriors,  and  generals. 


XIV 


AUTHOR  S PREFACE 


despatches  and  have  alarmed  all  those  of  “ the 
religion.” 

Again,  it  would  have  been  especially  neces- 
sary to  seize  the  strongholds  of  the  Protestants; 
for  while  they  retained  control  of  these  the  royal 
authority  was  not  assured.  Thus,  supposing  a 
regular  plot  on  the  part  of  the  Catholics  to  have 
existed,  it  is  clear  that  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant steps  would  have  been  to  seize  Rochelle 
by  the  24th  of  August,  and  to  have  an  army 
simultaneously  on  foot  in  the  south  of  France 
to  prevent  any  combined  uprising  of  the  re- 
formers.* 

Nothing  of  this  sort  was  done;  and  I cannot 
admit  that  the  same  men  were  likely  at  once  to 
conceive  a crime  the  results  of  which  must  have 
been  so  momentous,  and  to  execute  it  so  ill.  So 
badly  indeed  were  measures  taken,  that  a few 
months  after  St.  Bartholomew  the  war  broke  out 
afresh,  a war  wherein  the  reformers  won  all  the 
credit,  and  from  which  they  even  obtained  new 
and  solid  advantage. 

Lastly,  does  not  the  attempt  to  assassinate 
Coligny,  which  was  made  two  days  before  St. 
Bartholomew,  put  the  final  touch  to  the  refuta- 

* During  the  second  civil  war  the  Protestants  in  a single  day  surprised 
more  than  half  the  fortresses  of  France.  The  Catholics  could  have  done 
the  same. 


AUTHOR’S  PREFACE 


xv 


tion  of  the  supposed  general  scheme?  Why  kill 
the  chief  before  the  general  massacre?  Was  it 
not  the  very  way  to  scare  the  Huguenots,  and 
to  force  them  to  stand  on  their  guard? 

I know  that  some  authors  attribute  this  at- 
tack on  the  Admiral’s  person  to  Guise  alone ; but, 
not  to  mention  that  public  opinion  accused  the 
King  of  the  deed,*  and  that  the  would-be 
assassin  received  a formal  royal  recompense,  I 
should  draw  from  the  very  fact  of  the  outrage 
an  argument  against  the  plot.  Had  it  really 
existed,  the  Duke  of  Guise  must  have  had  a hand 
in  it;  and,  if  so,  why  not  delay  his  private  ven- 
geance for  a couple  of  days,  so  as  to  make  its 
success  certain?  Why  risk  the  failure  of  the 
whole  enterprise  in  the  sole  hope  of  hastening  his 
enemy’s  death  by  forty-eight  hours? 

Thus  all  evidence  seems  to  me  to  show  that 
this  great  massacre  was  not  the  result  of  a con- 
spiracy on  the  part  of  the  King  against  a section 
of  his  people.  The  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew 
appears  to  me  the  result  of  a popular  ris- 
ing which  could  not  be  foreseen,  and  which 
was  in  fact  improvised;  and  I shall  now,  in 
all  humility,  give  my  own  explanation  of  the 
riddle. 

Coligny  had  thrice  negotiated  with  his  sov- 

* Maurevel  was  surnamed  “The  King’s  Butcher.”  See  Brantome. 


XVI 


AUTHOR’S  PREFACE 


ereign  on  equal  terms,  and  that  was  reason 
enough  why  the  King  should  hate  him.  After 
the  death  of  Jeanne  D’Albret,  the  two  young 
princes  (the  King  of  Navarre  and  the  Prince  of 
Conde)  being  too  young  to  exercise  any  in- 
fluence, Coligny  was,  in  truth  and  in  fact,  the 
only  chief  of  the  reformed  party.  When  he  was 
out  of  the  way  the  two  princes,  in  their  enemy’s 
camp,  and  quasi-prisoners  there,  were  at  the 
King’s  mercy.  Thus  the  death  of  Coligny,  and 
of  Coligny  only,  was  important  for  assuring  the 
authority  of  Charles,  who  had  perhaps  not  for- 
gotten the  saying  of  the  Duke  of  Alva,  “ A 
salmon’s  head  is  worth  more  than  ten  thousand 
frogs.” 

But  if  the  King  could  get  rid  at  once  of 
the  Admiral  and  of  Guise,  he  would  clearly  be- 
come absolute  master.  The  course  therefore 
that  he  ought  to  have  taken  was  this:  to  get  the 
Admiral  assassinated,  or,  if  anyone  prefers  it, 
to  suggest  the  assassination  to  the  Duke  of  Guise, 
and  then  to  have  Guise  himself  prosecuted  as 
a murderer,  making  proclamation  that  the  Duke 
was  abandoned  to  the  vengeance  of  the  Hugue- 
nots. It  is  known  that  Guise,  whether  guilty  or 
not  of  Maurevel’s  attempt,  quitted  Paris  in  a 
hurry,  and  that  the  reformers,  with  the  apparent 
sanction  of  the  King,  set  no  bounds  to  their 


AUTHOR’S  PREFACE 


XVII 


threats  against  the  princes  of  the  House  of 
Lorraine. 

Now  at  this  time  the  populace  of  Paris  was 
terribly  fanatical.  The  citizens,  in  their  trained 
bands,  formed  a kind  of  national  guard,  ready 
to  take  arms  at  the  first  sound  of  the  tocsin.  The 
Huguenots,  who  had  twice  besieged  the  town, 
were  as  much  hated  as  the  Duke  of  Guise,  for 
his  own  merits,  and  his  father’s  memory,  was 
beloved.  The  kind  of  favour  which  the  re- 
formers, at  the  moment  of  the  marriage  of  the 
King’s  sister  to  a prince  of  their  faith,  enjoyed 
at  Court  redoubled  their  own  arrogance  and  the 
hatred  of  their  enemies.  In  short,  there  was  but 
need  of  a chief  to  put  himself  at  the  head  of 
these  fanatics,  and  cry  “ Strike!  ” to  make  them 
rush  at  the  throats  of  their  heretical  countrymen. 
The  Duke,  too,  banished  from  Court,  threatened 
by  the  King  and  by  the  Protestants,  had  per- 
force to  seek  support  from  the  people.  He 
gathers  the  train-band  chiefs,  talks  to  them  of 
a plot  of  the  heretics,  bids  them  exterminate  the 
plotters  before  their  plot  is  ripe,  and  then,  and 
then  only,  the  massacre  is  meditated.  As  a few 
hours  only  passed  between  plan  and  execution,  the 
mystery  which  surrounded  the  conspiracy  and  the 
keeping  of  the  secret  by  so  large  a number  of 
men  is  easily  explained — a matter  which  otherwise 


XV111 


AUTHOR  S PREFACE 


seems  very  extraordinary,  for  “ secrets  travel 
fast  in  Paris.”  * 

It  is  not  easy  to  decide  what  part  the  King 
took  in  the  massacre;  but  if  he  did  not  approve 
it  beforehand,  he  did  not  interfere  with  it.  After 
two  days  of  murder  and  outrage  he  disavowed  the 
whole  thing  and  tried  to  stop  the  carnage. f But 
the  rage  of  the  people  had  been  let  loose,  and  the 
people’s  thirst  is  not  slaked  with  a little  blood. 
More  than  sixty  thousand  victims  were  called 
for,  and  the  King  was  obliged  to  swim  with  the 
resistless  stream.  He  revoked  his  orders  of 
mercy,  and  soon  gave  fresh  ones  for  extending 
assassination  all  over  France. 

Such  is  my  opinion  about  the  massacre  of 
St.  Bartholomew;  and  in  setting  it  forth  I shall 
say  with  Lord  Byron: 

“ I only  say,  suppose  this  supposition.  ” 

— Don  Juan , cant.  i.  stan.  85. 

1829. 

* A saying  of  Napoleon. 

f He  attributed  the  attempt  on  Coligny  and  the  massacre  to  the  Duke 
of  Guise  and  the  princes  of  the  House  of  Lorraine. 


A CHRONICLE  OF 
THE  REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  EEITEES 

“ The  black  bands  came  over 
The  Alps  and  their  snow; 

With  Bourbon,  the  Rover, 

They  passed  the  broad  Po.” 

Lord  Byron,  The  Deformed  Transformed. 

NOT  far  from  Etampes,  on  the  Paris 
road,  there  is  still  to  be  seen  a large 
square  building  with  pointed  windows 
roughly  sculptured.  Above  the  gate  is  a niche 
where  was  once  a stone  image  of  Our  Lady, 
but  in  the  Revolution  this  shared  the  fate  of 
many  saints  of  both  sexes,  and  was  solemnly 
demolished  by  the  president  of  the  revolutionary 
club  of  Larcy.  They  have  since  put  in  its  place 
another  Virgin,  which  is  no  doubt  only  plaster, 
but  which,  with  a scrap  or  two  of  silk  and  some 


2 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


glass  beads,  plays  the  part  fairly  well,  and  gives 
an  almost  venerable  air  to  Claude  Giraut’s 
cabaret. 

More  than  two  centuries  ago,  to  wit,  in  1572, 
the  function  of  this  building  was,  as  now,  to 
receive  thirsty  travellers;  but  at  that  time  its 
appearance  was  altogether  different.  The  walls 
were  covered  with  inscriptions  bearing  witness 
to  the  varying  incidents  of  a civil  war.  By 
the  side  of  “ Long  Live  the  Prince!  ”*  you  read 
“ Long  Live  the  Duke  of  Guise — Death  to  the 
Huguenots!”  A little  further  a soldier  had 
drawn  with  charcoal  a gallows  and  its  burden, 
adding  below,  for  fear  of  mistakes,  the  inscrip- 
tion, “ Gaspard  de  Chatillon.”  Yet  it  would 
appear  that  the  Protestants  had  later  had  the 
upper  hand  in  these  quarters,  for  the  name  of 
their  chief  had  been  struck  out  and  replaced  by 
that  of  Guise.  Other  legends,  half  rubbed  out, 
difficult  to  read,  and  still  more  difficult  to  trans- 
late decorously,  showed  that  the  King  and  his 
mother  had  met  with  no  more  respect  than  these 
partisan  chiefs.  But  the  poor  Madonna  her- 
self seemed  to  have  had  most  to  suffer  from 
political  and  religious  frenzy.  The  statue,  chip- 
ped by  bullets  in  twenty  places,  proved  the  zeal 
of  the  Huguenot  soldiery  in  defacing  what  they 


♦The  Prince  of  Conde. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


3 


were  pleased  to  call  heathen  images.  While  the 
pious  Catholic  doffed  his  bonnet  in  veneration 
when  passing  the  statue,  the  Protestant  trooper 
thought  it  his  duty  to  let  fly  his  arquebuss  at 
it;  and  if  he  hit  he  plumed  himself  as  much  as 
if  he  had  brought  down  the  Beast  of  the  Revela- 
tions and  abolished  idolatry. 

For  some  months  past  there  had  been  peace 
between  the  rival  sects;  but  the  lips  and  not  the 
heart  had  sworn  it.  The  hatred  of  the  factions 
was  maintained  in  all  its  implacability.  Every- 
where there  was  a reminder  that  war  had  hardly 
ceased,  and  a promise  that  peace  would  be  of  no 
long  duration.  The  Lion  d’Or  was  full  of 
soldiers.  They  were  easily  known,  by  their  for- 
eign accent  and  outlandish  costume,  for  those 
German  troopers  known  as  Reiters,*  who  were 
in  the  habit  of  off ering  their  services  to  the  Prot- 
estant party,  especially  when  the  Protestant 
party  was  in  case  to  pay  them  well.  If  skill 
in  horsemanship  and  dexterity  in  using  firearms 
made  these  strangers  formidable  on  the  day  of 
battle,  they  were  on  the  other  hand  renowned, 
and  perhaps  with  still  more  justice,  as  accom- 
plished plunderers,  and  for  their  ruthlessness 
in  the  hour  of  victory.  The  squadron  which 

* By  corruption  from  the  German  renter,  “horseman.”  [In  French 
retire.] 


4 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


had  taken  up  its  quarters  in  the  inn  numbered 
fifty  horsemen,  who  had  left  Paris  the  night 
before,  and  were  on  their  way  to  join  the  gar- 
rison of  Orleans. 

While  some  of  them  groomed  their  horses 
fastened  to  the  wall,  others  made  up  the  fire, 
turned  the  spits,  and  generally  attended  to  the 
cooking.  The  unfortunate  innkeeper,  cap  in 
hand  and  tears  in  eye,  gazed  on  the  racket 
which  was  going  on  in  his  kitchen.  He  saw  the 
poultry  yard  emptied,  the  cellar  under  contribu- 
tion, bottles  broken  short  off  at  the  neck  to  save 
the  trouble  of  drawing  the  cork,  and,  worst  of 
all,  he  knew  that,  for  all  the  King’s  strict  or- 
dinances as  to  discipline  in  the  army,  there  was 
not  the  slightest  compensation  to  expect  from 
those  who  were  treating  him  as  if  they  were  in 
a conquered  country.  It  was  an  established 
principle  in  these  unlucky  times  that,  in  peace 
or  in  war,  armed  men  did  what  was  right  in 
their  own  eyes  wherever  they  found  themselves. 

Before  a table  of  oak,  blackened  by  grease 
and  smoke,  sat  the  captain  of  the  Reiters.  He 
was  a tall  and  stout  man  of  about  fifty,  with  a 
hooked  nose  and  a high  colour.  His  scanty  and 
grizzled  hair  scarcely  covered  a huge  scar  which 
began  at  the  left  ear  and  lost  itself  in  a thick 
moustache.  He  had  taken  off  his  helm  and  his 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


5 


cuirass,  and  wore  only  a jerkin  of  Hungarian 
leather,  stained  by  the  friction  of  his  armour, 
and  carefully  patched  in  divers  places.  His 
sabre  and  his  pistols  lay  on  a bench  within  reach ; 
but  he  kept  his  large  dagger,  a weapon  which 
no  prudent  man  then  discarded  till  he  went  to 
bed.  At  his  left  sat  a young  man,  bright-com- 
plexioned,  tall,  and  well-made  enough.  His 
doublet  was  embroidered,  and  the  whole  of  his 
dress  was  more  careful  than  the  captain’s.  He 
was,  however,  only  a cornet. 

Two  girls  of  some  twenty  or  twenty-five 
years  kept  them  company  at  table.  Their  gar- 
ments, evidently  not  made  for  them,  and  gained 
by  chance  of  war,  showed  a mixture  of  shabbi- 
ness and  luxury.  One  was  dressed  in  a kind 
of  bodice  of  damask  brocaded  with  gold,  but 
this  bodice  was  tarnished,  and  completed  only 
by  a skirt  of  plain  cloth.  The  other  had  a gown 
of  violet  velvet,  and  a man’s  hat  of  grey  felt 
adorned  with  a cock’s  feather.  Both  were  pretty ; 
but  their  bold  glances  and  free  talk  showed 
the  results  of  their  association  with  soldiers. 
The  functions  which  they  left  Germany  to  dis- 
charge were  a little  uncertain.  Velvet-gown  was 
a gipsy:  she  could  tell  fortunes  with  cards  and 
play  the  mandolin.  The  other  had  some  knowl- 
edge of  leech-craft,  and  appeared  to  be  high  in 


6 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


the  cornet’s  good  graces.  The  quartet,  each  with 
a large  bottle  and  a glass  before  him  or  her, 
chatted  and  drank  together  while  waiting  for 
their  dinner. 

The  conversation,  as  was  natural  between 
very  hungry  people,  was  not  lively  at  the  mo- 
ment that  a young  man  of  lofty  stature  and 
dressed  with  some  elegance  halted  his  good  chest- 
nut horse  before  the  inn  door.  The  trumpeter 
of  the  Reiters  rose  from  a bench  where  he  sat, 
and  coming  towards  the  stranger  took  his  bridle. 
The  stranger  was  about  to  thank  him  for  his 
supposed  courtesy,  but  he  was  soon  undeceived. 
The  trumpeter  opened  the  horse’s  mouth,  ex- 
amined his  teeth  like  an  expert,  and  then,  step- 
ping back  and  surveying  the  noble  animal’s  legs 
and  croup,  shook  his  head  with  an  air  of  satis- 
faction. “You  have  a good  horse  between  your 
legs,  sir,”  he  said  in  his  jargon,  and  added  in 
German  certain  words  which  made  his  comrades 
laugh  as  he  returned  and  took  his  seat  among 
them. 

This  cool  examination  did  not  please  the 
traveller;  but  he  contented  himself  with  a con- 
temptuous glance  at  the  trumpeter,  and  dis- 
mounted without  the  aid  of  anyone.  The  host, 
however,  who  was  just  stepping  out,  took  the 
bridle  from  his  hands  respectfully,  and  whis- 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


7 


pered  sufficiently  low  for  the  Reiters  not  to  hear, 
“ God  be  your  speed,  young  sir,  but  you  come 
at  an  evil  chance;  for  the  company  of  these 
heretics  (may  St.  Christopher  wring  their 
necks!)  is  not  agreeable  to  good  Christians  like 
you  and  me.” 

The  young  man  smiled  bitterly.  “ Are  these 
gentlemen,”  said  he,  “ Protestant  troopers?  ” 

“ Yes,  and  Reiters  as  well,”  quoth  the  host. 
“ Our  Lady  confound  them!  they  have  been  here 
but  an  hour,  and  they  have  broken  half  my  gear. 
They  are  all  pitiless  plunderers,  like  that  devil’s 
Admiral,  their  fine  chief,  M.  de  Chatillon.” 

“ For  a greybeard,”  answered  the  young 
man,  “ you  are  not  prudent.  If  perchance  he 
to  whom  you  spoke  were  a Protestant,  he  might 
give  you  a broken  head  for  an  answer.”  And 
he  slashed  his  white  leather  boot  with  his  horse- 
whip as  he  spoke. 

“ How?  what?  You  a Huguenot — a Prot- 
estant, I mean!  ” cried  the  astounded  host.  He 
stepped  back  and  stared  at  the  stranger  from 
head  to  foot,  as  if  to  discover  in  his  dress  some 
symptom  of  his  religion.  This  scrutiny  and  the 
open  laughing  countenance  of  the  young  man 
reassured  him  a little,  and  he  began  again  in  a 
lower  tone,  “ A Protestant  with  a green  velvet 
coat!  A Huguenot  with  a Spanish  ruff!  Im- 


8 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


possible,  my  good  young  lord.  Heretics  go  not 
so  brave.  St.  Mary!  a velvet  doublet  is  too  fine 
for  the  dirty  varlets.” 

The  whip  whistled  through  the  air  at  once, 
and  striking  the  poor  Boniface  across  the  cheek, 
gave  him  as  it  were  his  guest’s  confession  of 
faith. 

“ Here,  insolent  chatterer,  is  something  to 
teach  you  to  keep  your  tongue  in  order.  Come, 
take  my  horse  to  the  stable,  and  see  that  he 
lacks  naught.” 

The  innkeeper  hung  his  head  sadly,  and  led 
the  horse  under  a kind  of  shed,  muttering  a 
thousand  curses  against  heretics,  German  and 
French  alike;  and  had  not  the  young  man  fol- 
lowed him  to  see  how  his  horse  was  treated,  the 
poor  beast  would  no  doubt  have  been  docked  of 
his  supper  as  a misbeliever. 

The  stranger  next  entered  the  kitchen  and 
greeted  the  persons  there  assembled,  lifting 
gracefully  the  flap  of  his  large  hat,  which  was 
crowned  with  a black  and  yellow  plume.  The 
captain  returned  his  salute,  and  both  looked  at 
each  other  for  some  time  without  speaking. 

“ Captain,”  said  the  young  stranger  at  last, 
“ I am  a Protestant  gentleman,  and  rejoice  to 
meet  some  of  my  brethren  in  religion.  If  you 
please,  we  will  sup  together.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


9 


The  captain,  favourably  impressed  already 
by  the  distinguished  mien  and  elegant  dress  of 
the  stranger,  answered  that  he  was  much  hon- 
oured. And  forthwith  Mademoiselle  Mila,  the 
gipsy  girl  of  whom  we  have  spoken,  made  room 
for  the  stranger  on  the  bench  beside  her;  and 
being  of  a very  obliging  disposition,  gave  him 
her  own  glass,  which  the  captain  promptly  filled. 

“ My  name  is  Dietrich  Hornstein,”  said  he 
as  he  clinked  glasses  with  the  young  man.  “You 
have  doubtless  heard  of  Captain  Dietrich  Horn- 
stein. ’Twas  I led  the  forlorn  hope  at  the  battle 
of  Dreux,  and  at  Arnay-le-Duc  afterwards.” 
The  stranger  understood  this  indirect  way 
of  asking  him  his  own  name,  and  answered,  “ I 
am  sorry,  captain,  that  I can  not  give  you  a name 
as  famous  as  your  own — as  famous,  that  is  to 
say,  on  my  own  account,  for  my  father’s  has 
made  noise  enough  in  our  civil  wars.  Men  call 
me  Bernard  de  Mergy.” 

“ You  tell  the  name  to  the  right  ears,”  cried 
the  captain,  filling  his  glass  to  the  brim.  “ I 
knew  your  father,  M.  Bernard  de  Mergy.  I 
have  known  him  since  the  first  civil  war  as  one 
knows  an  intimate  friend.  His  health,  Master 
Bernard.” 

The  captain  held  out  his  glass  and  said  a 
few  words  in  German  to  the  troopers,  who  at 


10 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


the  moment  the  wine  touched  his  lips  threw  their 
hats  in  the  air  with  a shout.  The  host,  who  took 
this  for  a signal  of  massacre,  fell  on  his  knees; 
and  Bernard  himself  was  a little  surprised  at 
the  exceptional  honour.  But  he  thought  it  his 
duty  not  to  be  behind  this  German  politeness, 
and  gave  the  captain’s  health.  The  bottles,  al- 
ready stoutly  attacked  before  his  arrival,  could 
not  hold  out  at  this  fresh  toast. 

“ Get  up,  hypocrite,”  said  the  captain,  turn- 
ing to  the  still  kneeling  host;  “ get  up,  and  fetch 
us  wine.  See  you  not  that  the  bottles  are  emp- 
ty? ” And  the  cornet,  to  prove  the  fact,  threw 
one  of  them  at  the  head  of  the  host,  who  ran  to 
the  cellar. 

“ ’Tis  an  insolent  rascal,”  said  Mergy;  “ but 
you  might  have  done  him  more  harm  than  you 
meant  if  that  bottle  had  gone  straight.” 

“Bah!”  said  the  cornet  with  a loud  laugh; 
and  Mila  added,  “ A Papist’s  head,  though  it 
be  emptier  than  that  bottle,  is  also  harder;” 
whereat  the  cornet  laughed  yet  louder,  and  was 
imitated  by  all,  the  company,  even  by  Mergy, 
whose  smile,  however,  was  rather  for  the  gipsy’s 
pretty  mouth  than  for  her  cruel  jest.  They 
brought  the  wine,  the  supper  followed,  and  after 
a moment’s  silence  the  captain  began  again  with 
his  mouth  full: 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


11 


“ I should  think  I did  know  M.  de  Mergy. 
He  was  colonel  of  infantry  when  the  prince 
made  his  first  attempt.  We  had  the  same 
quarters  for  two  months  running  at  the  first 
siege  of  Orleans.  And  how  is  he  now?  ” 

“ Well  enough,  thank  God,  seeing  his  great 
age.  He  has  talked  to  me  often  enough  of  the 
Reiters  and  the  gallant  charges  they  made  at 
Dreux.” 

“ I knew  his  elder  son,  too,  your  brother, 

Captain  George.  I mean  before ” 

Mergy  seemed  embarrassed,  but  the  captain 
went  on — 

“ He  was  as  brave  as  steel,  but  hotheaded 
enough,  plague  on  it!  I am  sorry  for  your  fa- 
ther; the  apostasy  must  have  grieved  him  much.,, 

Mergy  blushed  up  to  his  eyes,  and  stammered 
some  words  of  excuse  for  his  brother;  but  it 
was  clear  that  he  judged  him  even  more  severely 
than  the  captain  of  Reiters. 

“ Ah,  I see  you  are  vexed,”  said  the  captain; 
“ let  us  drop  the  subject.  He  was  a loss  for 
the  religion  and  a gain  for  the  King,  who  they 
say  pays  him  much  honour.” 

“ You  come  from  Paris,”  said  Mergy,  seek- 
ing to  change  the  conversation;  “has  the  Ad- 
miral arrived?  You  have  doubtless  seen  him. 
How  goes  it  with  him?  ” 


12 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ He  was  just  arriving  with  the  Court  from 
Blois  as  we  left.  He  is  wonderfully  well,  fresh, 
and  lively;  and  is  good  for  twenty  civil  wars  yet, 
honest  man.  His  Majesty  pays  him  so  much  at- 
tention that  the  Papists  are  bursting  with  envy.” 

“ Really?  But  the  King  can  never  do  him 
honour  equal  to  his  merit.” 

“ Look  you.  I saw  the  King  yesterday  on 
the  Louvre  staircase  clasping  the  Admiral’s 
hand.  M.  de  Guise,  who  came  behind,  looked 
like  a whipped  hound.  And  what  do  you  think 
I thought?  It  looked  to  me  like  the  man  who 
shows  off  the  lion  at  a fair.  He  makes  him 
give  paw  like  a dog;  but  though  Jack  Lion-tamer 
keeps  a brave  face  on  it,  he  never  forgets  the 
claws  of  the  paw  he  holds.  Yes,  by  my  beard, 
a man  might  say  the  King  felt  the  Admiral’s 
claws.” 

“ The  Admiral  has  a long  arm,”  said  the 
cornet,  repeating  a catchword  of  the  Protestant 
army. 

“ He  is  a handsome  man  for  his  years,”  ob- 
served Mademoiselle  Mila. 

“ I would  rather  have  him  for  lover  than  a 
young  Papist,”  retorted  Mademoiselle  Trud- 
chen,  the  cornet’s  friend. 

“ He  is  a pillar  of  the  faith,”  quoth  Mergy, 
not  wishing  to  be  behindhand  in  praise. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


13 


“ Yes,  but  he  is  devilishly  strict  on  the  point 
of  discipline,”  said  the  captain  with  a shake  of 
the  head.  The  cornet  winked  meaningly,  and 
his  fat  face  crumpled  itself  up  in  a grimace 
which  he  meant  for  a smile. 

“ I did  not  expect,”  said  Mergy,  “ to  hear 
an  old  soldier  like  you,  captain,  blame  the 
Admiral  for  keeping  strict  discipline  in  his 
army.” 

“ Oh,  yes,  of  course  we  must  have  discipline ; 
but  still  soldiers  ought  to  have  credit  for  all  the 
sufferings  they  go  through,  and  not  be  forbid- 
den to  enjoy  themselves  when  fortune  gives 
them  the  chance.  But,  bah!  every  man  has  his 
faults,  and  though  he  did  hang  me,  let  us  drink 
the  Admiral’s  health.” 

. “ The  Admiral  hanged  you!  ” cried  Mergy. 
“ You  seem  to  be  in  very  good  case  for  a hanged 
man.” 

“ Yes,  sacrament!  He  hanged  me,  but  I bear 
no  malice,  so  here’s  to  him.” 

Before  Mergy  could  repeat  his  question  the 
captain  filled  all  the  glasses,  took  off  his  hat, 
and  made  his  troopers  give  a “Hip!  hip!  hur- 
rah! ” The  glasses  empty  and  the  noise  quieted, 
Mergy  began  again : 

“ Why  did  they  hang  you,  captain?  ” 

“ For  a mere  trifle;  a miserable  convent  in 


14 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


Saintonge  that  was  sacked,  and  then  burnt  by 
accident.” 

“ But  the  monks  had  not  all  got  out  of  it,” 
interrupted  the  cornet,  roaring  with  laughter  at 
his  own  wit. 

“ Well,  what  does  it  matter  whether  such  ras- 
cals burn  a little  sooner  or  a little  later?  Yet 
the  Admiral,  would  you  believe  it,  M.  de  Mergy, 
but  the  Admiral  got  seriously  angry,  had  me  ar- 
rested, and  the  provost-marshal  marked  me  for 
his  own  in  the  most  unceremonious  manner. 
Then  all  the  gentlemen  and  noblemen  of  his 
following,  even  M.  de  Lanoue,  who,  as  all  men 
know,  has  no  bowels  for  the  poor  soldier  (‘the 
knot  [la  noue\  ties  and  does  not  untie/  as  they 
say),  all  the  captains,  in  short,  begged  for  my 
pardon,  but  he  gave  them  a flat  refusal.  V entre 
de  loup!  what  a rage  he  was  in!  He  chewed  his 
toothpick  with  fury;  and  you  know  the  proverb, 
‘ God  keep  us  from  M.  de  Montmorency’s 
prayer  and  the  Admiral’s  toothpick.’  ‘ God 
pardon  me,’  quoth  he,  ‘ we  must  kill  Madam 
Plunder  when  she  is  a little  girl;  if  we  let  her 
grow  a great  lady  she  will  kill  us.’  So  there 
comes  me  the  minister,  book  under  arm,  and  they 
take  the  pair  of  us  beneath  a certain  oak  tree. 
I can  see  it  now,  with  a branch  sticking  out 
that  seemed  to  have  grown  on  purpose.  They 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


15 


put  the  cord  round  my  neck — and  when  I 
think  of  that  cord  my  throat  grows  dry  as 
tinder.” 

“ Wet  it  then,”  quoth  Mila,  and  she  filled 
him  a bumper.  He  drained  it  at  a gulp,  and 
went  on: 

“ I set  my  life  just  at  an  acorn’s  fee,  and 
no  more,  when  it  occurred  to  me  to  say  to  the 
Admiral,  ‘ Eh,  Monseigneur,  is  this  the  way  you 
hang  a man  who  led  the  forlorn  hope  at  Dreux?  ’ 
He  spat  out  his  toothpick  and  took  another, 
which  I said  to  myself  was  a good  sign.  Then 
he  called  Captain  Cormier,  and  whispered  in  his 
ear;  then  he  said  to  the  provost,  ‘ Come,  up  with 
the  fellow!  ’ and  turned  on  his  heel.  They  ran 
me  up,  sure  enough;  but  Cormier,  like  a good 
fellow,  drew  sword  and  slashed  the  rope,  so 
that  I fell  from  my  branch  as  red  as  a boiled 
cray-fish.” 

“ I congratulate  you,”  said  Mergy,  “ on  hav- 
ing escaped  so  cheaply.”  But  he  looked  at  the 
captain  curiously,  and  seemed  a little  disturbed 
at  finding  himself  in  company  with  a man  who 
had  earned  the  gallows.  In  these  unlucky  times, 
however,  crime  was  so  common  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  judge  it  as  one  would  do  nowadays. 
Party  atrocities  justified  reprisal,  and  religious 
hatred  almost  smothered  all  national  sentiment. 


16 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


[Besides,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  secret  provocations 
of  Mademoiselle  Mila,  whom  he  began  to 
think  very  pretty  indeed,  and  the  fumes  of 
the  wine,  which  had  more  power  over  his 
young  head  than  over  the  seasoned  brains  of 
the  Reiters,  joined  in  making  him  feel  unusually 
indulgent  towards  his  companions. 

“ I kept  the  captain  hidden  in  a tilted  cart 
for  a week,”  said  Mila,  “ and  only  let  him  out 
at  night-time.” 

“ And  I,”  said  Trudchen,  “ I brought  him 
food  and  drink.  He  is  there  to  say  so.” 

“ The  Admiral  pretended  to  be  very  wroth 
with  Cormier,  but  all  that  was  only  a game  ar- 
ranged between  them.  As  for  me,  I followed 
the  army  long,  not  daring  to  show  myself  to  him, 
till,  at  the  siege  of  Longnac,  he  spied  me  in  the 
trenches,  and  said,  ‘ Dietrich,  my  friend,  as  you 
have  not  been  hanged,  go  and  get  shot,’  and  he 
pointed  to  the  breach.  I knew  what  he  meant 
well  enough,  went  stoutly  to  the  assault,  and 
met  him  next  day  in  the  street  with  my  hat  in 
my  hand  and  a bullet-hole  through  my  hat. 
‘ Monseigneur, ’ said  I,  ‘ shooting  has  the  same 
effect  on  me  as  hanging.’  So  he  smiled  and 
gave  me  his  purse,  saying,  ‘ There  is  a new  hat 
for  you.’  Since  which  time  we  have  always  been 
good  friends.  Ah,  what  a sack  that  was  at  the 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  17 

said  town  of  Longnac!  My  mouth  waters  at 
the  mere  thought  of  it.” 

“ Such  silk  dresses ! ” cried  Mila. 

“ Such  plenty  of  lovely  linen ! ” cried  Trud- 
chen. 

“ What  a time  we  had  with  the  nuns  of  the 
great  convent!”  said  the  cornet.  “Two  hun- 
dred horse-arquebusiers  quartered  on  a hundred 
nuns ! ” 

“ More  than  twenty  of  them  abjured  Po- 
pery,” said  Mila,  “ they  found  the  Huguenots 
so  much  to  their  taste.” 

“ ’Twas  there,  too,”  cried  the  captain,  “ that 
’twas  pretty  to  see  our  argoulets  * watering  their 
horses  with  priests’  chasubles  on  their  backs,  our 
horses  eating  their  oats  off  the  altar,  and  our- 
selves drinking  the  priests’  good  wine  in  their 
silver  chalices!  ” 

He  turned  his  head  to  call  for  drink,  and 
caught  the  host  clasping  his  hands  and  lifting 
his  eyes  to  heaven  with  an  expression  of  un- 
speakable horror. 

“Idiot!”  said  the  gallant  Dietrich  Horn- 
stein,  shrugging  his  shoulders ; “ how  can  a man 
be  such  a fool  as  to  believe  all  the  nonsense 
that  Popish  priests  talk?  Why,  M.  de  Mergy, 
at  Montcontour  I killed  one  of  the  Duke  of 


* Pioneers,  light  troops. 


18 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


Anjou’s  gentlemen  with  a pistol-shot,  and  when 
I pulled  off  his  doublet,  what  do  you  think  I 
found  on  his  breast? — a great  piece  of  silk  em- 
broidered all  over  with  saints’  names ; he  thought 
it  would  keep  off  the  balls.  By  Jove!  I taught 
him  that  a Protestant  bullet  will  go  through  any 
scapulary.” 

“Yes,  through  scapularies,”  said  the  cornet; 
“ but  in  my  country  they  sell  parchments  which 
really  keep  you  from  shot  and  sword.” 

“ I would  rather  have  a good  steel  cuirass, 
well  hammered,  like  those  that  Jacob  Leschot 
makes  in  the  Netherlands,”  said  Mergy. 

“ Ah,  but  listen,”  continued  the  captain;  “ no 
doubt  it  is  possible  to  be  made  ball-proof.  I 
myself  saw  at  Dreux  a gentleman  hit  by  an 
arquebuss  ball  right  in  the  centre  of  the  chest; 
he  knew  the  receipt  of  a ball-proof  ointment,  and 
had  rubbed  himself  under  his  buff  coat  with  it; 
well,  there  was  not  even  the  red  and  black  mark 
of  a bruise  to  be  seen  on  him.” 

“ And  do  not  you  think  that  the  buff  coat 
you  speak  of  was  enough  to  turn  the  shot  by 
itself?  ” 

“ Ah,  you  believe  in  nothing,  you  Frenchmen. 
But  what  would  you  say  if  you  had  seen,  as  I 
have,  a Silesian  gendarme  put  his  hand  on  the 
table  and  the  whole  company  try  in  vain  to  make 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


19 


a wound  in  it  with  the  full  force  of  their  dag- 
gers? You  laugh.  You  think  it  impossible. 
Ask  Mila,  then.  You  see  that  young  woman? 
She  comes  from  a country  where  wizards  are  as 
common  as  monks  here.  She  is  the  girl  to  tell 
you  horrible  stories  of  them.  Sometimes  in  the 
long  autumn  evenings,  round  the  camp-fire  in 
the  open  air,  she  makes  my  hair  stand  on  end 
with  her  legends.” 

“ I should  be  charmed  to  hear  one,”  said 
Mergy.  “Do  me  that  pleasure,  fair  Mila.” 

“ Yes,  Mila,”  added  the  captain,  “ tell  us  a 
story  while  we  finish  these  bottles.” 

“ Listen  then,”  said  Mila;  “ and  you,  young 
sir,  who  believe  in  nothing,  will  be  good  enough, 
if  you  please,  to  keep  your  doubts  to  yourself.” 
“ How  can  you  say  that  I believe  in  noth- 
ing? ” said  Mergy  in  a low  voice;  “ faith,  I be- 
lieve you  have  bewitched  me  already,  for  I am 
head-over-ears  in  love  with  you.” 

Mila  pushed  him  gently  back,  for  his  lips 
nearly  touched  her  cheek;  and  after  glancing 
slyly  right  and  left  to  see  that  all  were  listening, 
she  thus  began: 

“ Captain,  of  course  you  have  been  at  Hame- 
lin?  ” 

“ Never.” 

“Nor  you,  cornet?” 


20 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ Nor  L” 

“ What!  can  I find  no  one  who  has  been  at 
Hamelin?  ” 

“ I spent  a year  there,”  said  a trooper,  com- 
ing forward. 

“Well,  Fritz,  you  saw  the  church?” 

“ Hundreds  of  times.” 

“ And  its  stained-glass  windows?  ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“And  what  did  you  see  painted  there?” 

“ On  the  windows?  To  the  left,  I think, 
there  is  a tall  black  man  who  plays  the  flute,  and 
little  children  running  after  him.” 

“ Just  so.  Well,  I am  going  to  tell  you  the 
story  of  that  black  man  and  those  children. 

“Many  years  ago  the  people  of  Hamelin  were 
tormented  by  an  innumerable  multitude  of  rats, 
who  came  from  the  north  in  swarms  so  thick  that 
the  earth  was  black  with  them,  and  that  a carter 
would  not  have  dared  to  drive  his  horses  across 
a road  where  the  beasts  were  passing.  Every- 
thing was  devoured  in  a moment;  and  it  took 
less  time  for  the  rats  to  eat  a barrel  of  corn  in  a 
barn  than  it  takes  me  to  drink  a glass  of  this 
good  wine.” 

She  drank,  wiped  her  mouth,  and  went  on. 

“ Mouse-traps,  rat-traps,  snares,  poison,  all 
were  useless.  They  brought  a boat-load  of  eleven 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


21 


hundred  cats  from  Bremen,  but  it  did  no  good  at 
all.  For  each  thousand  rats  killed  ten  thousand 
appeared,  hungrier  than  the  first.  In  short,  if 
the  plague  had  not  been  stayed,  not  a grain  of 
corn  would  have  remained  in  Hamelin  town,  and 
all  the  dwellers  therein  must  have  died  of 
hunger. 

“ Now  on  a certain  Friday  there  came  before 
the  burgomaster  a tall  man,  swarthy  and  parched 
of  aspect,  with  large  eyes,  and  a mouth  from 
ear  to  ear.  He  was  dressed  in  a red  jerkin,  a 
pointed  hat,  wide  breeches  trimmed  with  ribbons, 
grey  stockings,  and  shoes  with  flame-coloured 
rosettes.  He  had  a little  leather  wallet  slung  at 
his  side.  I think  I see  him  now.” 

All  eyes  turned  involuntarily  to  the  wall  at 
which  Mila  was  staring. 

“ You  saw  him  then?  ” asked  Mergy. 

“ No,  not  I,  ’twas  my  grandmother,  and  she 
remembered  him  so  well  that  she  could  have 
drawn  his  portrait.” 

“ And  what  said  he  to  the  burgomaster?  ” 

“ He  offered,  for  a fee  of  a hundred  ducats, 
to  deliver  the  city  from  its  scourge;  and,  as  you 
may  think,  the  burgomaster  and  the  citizens  said 
‘ Done  ’ at  once.  Forthwith  the  stranger  drew 
from  his  wallet  a flute  of  bronze,  and  taking  up 
his  station  in  the  market-place  in  front  of  the 


22 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


church  (but  with  his  back  to  it,  mind) , he  began 
to  play  an  air  so  strange  that  no  German  flute- 
player  has  ever  played  the  like.  And  as  they 
heard  this  air,  there  flocked  around  him  from 
garret  and  rat-hole,  from  rafter  and  tile,  rats 
and  mice  by  hundreds  and  thousands.  And  the 
stranger,  piping  still,  bent  his  way  to  the  river 
Weser,  and  there,  stripping  off  his  hose,  he  went 
into  the  water  followed  by  all  the  rats  of  Hame- 
lin,  who  were  drowned  straightway.  But  one 
remained  in  all  the  city,  and  you  shall  hear  where- 
fore. The  magician  (for  such  he  was)  asked  a 
laggard  rat  who  had  not  yet  got  into  the  water 
why  Klaus,  the  white  rat,  had  not  come.  ‘ My 
lord,’  said  the  rat,  ‘ he  is  so  old  that  he  can  not 
walk.’  ‘ Go  and  fetch  him  yourself,’  said  the 
magician;  and  the  rat  turned  tail,  and  went  to 
the  town,  whence  he  came  back  quickly  with  a 
great  old,  old,  white  rat,  so  old  that  he  could  not 
drag  himself  along;  and  the  two  rats,  the  young 
one  dragging  the  old  by  the  tail,  both  plunged  in 
the  Weser,  and  were  drowned  like  their  fellows. 
And  so  the  town  was  cleared.  But  when  the 
stranger  appeared  at  the  town-hall  to  draw  the 
promised  recompense,  the  burgomaster  and  the 
citizens,  remembering  that  they  had  nothing 
more  to  fear  from  the  rats,  and  thinking  that 
they  could  make  short  work  of  a friendless  man, 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


23 


were  not  ashamed  to  offer  him  ten  ducats  in- 
stead of  the  hundred  that  they  had  promised. 
The  stranger  protested;  they  gave  him  a flat  re- 
fusal. He  threatened  them  that  he  would  exact 
a far  higher  price  if  they  did  not  carry  out  their 
bargain.  The  citizens  burst  out  laughing  at  the 
threat,  and  showed  him  the  door,  calling  him  a 
‘ fine  rat-catcher/  which  insult  the  children  of 
the  town  repeated  as  they  followed  him  up  the 
streets  to  the  New  Gate.  Next  Friday  at  noon- 
day the  stranger  reappeared  on  the  market- 
place, but  this  time  with  a purple  hat,  cocked  in 
a singular  fashion.  He  drew  from  his  wallet  a 
flute  quite  different  from  the  other,  and  as  soon 
as  he  had  begun  to  play  all  the  boys  of  the  city 
from  six  years  old  to  fifteen  followed  him  out 
of  the  town  precincts.” 

“ And  did  the  men  of  Hamelin  let  them  be 
carried  off  quietly?  ” asked  Mergy  and  the  cap- 
tain together. 

“ They  followed  them  to  Koppenberg  Hill, 
close  to  a cavern  which  is  now  stopped  up.  The 
flute-player  entered  the  cave  and  all  the  children 
with  him.  For  a time  they  heard  the  sound  of 
the  flute;  little  by  little  it  died  away;  then  they 
heard  nothing.  The  children  had  vanished,  and 
never  afterwards  was  aught  heard  of  them.” 

The  gipsy  stopped  to  watch  the  effect  of  her 


24 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


story  on  the  countenances  of  her  hearers ; but  the 
Reiter  who  had  been  at  Hamelin  took  up  her 
words  and  said,  “ The  story  is  so  true,  that  when 
they  speak  at  Hamelin  of  anything  out  of  the 
way,  they  say,  ‘ That  happened  ten  or  twenty 
years  after  our  children  departed ;’  for  instance,  a 
‘ The  lord  of  Falkenstein  sacked  the  town  sixty 
years  after  our  children  departed.’  ” 

“ But  the  strangest  thing  of  all,”  said  Mila, 
“ is  that  at  the  very  same  time  there  appeared, 
far  off  in  Transylvania,  certain  children  who 
spoke  good  German,  and  who  could  not  tell  from 
whence  they  came.  They  married  in  the  country, 
and  taught  their  tongue  to  their  own  offspring, 
whence  it  comes  that,  at  this  day,  men  speak 
German  in  Transylvania.” 

“ And  those  were  the  Hamelin  children, 
transported  thither  by  the  devil?  ” said  Mergy, 
smiling. 

“ By  heaven  ’tis  true,”  said  the  captain,  “ for 
I have  been  in  Transylvania  myself,  and  I know; 
that  they  talk  German  while  all  round  men  jab- 
ber an  infernal  jargon.”  And,  indeed,  there  is 
plenty  of  evidence  produced  every  day  which  is 
not  a whit  better  than  the  captain’s. 

“ Shall  I tell  you  your  fortune?  ” said  Mila 
to  Mergy. 

“ By  all  means,”  said  he,  putting  his  left  arm 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


25 


round  the  gipsy’s  waist,  while  he  held  out  his 
right  palm. 

Mila  looked  at  it  for  nearly  five  minutes  with- 
out speaking,  but  shaking  her  head  now  and  then 
with  a thoughtful  air. 

“ Well,  pretty  child,  shall  I win  the  woman 
I love?  ” 

Mila  tapped  his  hand.  “ Here  is  luck  and 
ill  luck,”  quoth  she;  “ blue  eyes  bring  harm  and 
good.  The  worst  of  it  is,  you  will  shed  your 
own  blood.” 

The  captain  and  the  cornet  both  held  their 
tongues,  seeming  to  be  equally  struck  with  the 
sinister  ending  of  the  prophecy;  and  the  host 
crossed  himself  vigorously  in  the  corner. 

“ I will  believe  you  are  really  a witch,”  said 
Mergy,  “ if  you  can  tell  me  what  I am  going  to 
do  directly?  ” 

“ You  are  going  to  kiss  me,”  whispered  the 
gipsy  in  his  ear. 

“She  is  a witch,”  cried  Mergy,  kissing  her. 
And  he  continued  to  talk  low  to  the  fair  fortune- 
teller, while  they  seemed  to  get  on  better  and 
better  together  each  moment. 

Trudchen  took  up  a kind  of  mandolin,  rea- 
sonably well  provided  with  strings,  and  played 
a German  march  as  overture.  Then  when  a ring 
of  soldiers  had  gathered  round  her  she  sang  in 


26 


A CHRONICLE 


her  own  tongue  a war  song  which  the  Reiters 
chorussed  at  the  top  of  their  voices.  But  the 
captain,  not  to  be  outdone,  began  to  sing  too, 
at  a pitch  loud  enough  to  break  the  glasses,  an 
old  Huguenot  song,  of  which  the  tune  was  as 
barbarous  as  the  words : 

“Conde  he  is  dead, 

But  the  Admiral’s  at  our  head, 

And  La  Rochefoucauld  so  stout, 

To  drive  the  Papists  out — 

Out,  out,  out.”  * 

Whereat  all  the  Reiters,  heated  with  wine,  began 
to  sing  each  a different  air.  The  dishes  and  the 
bottles  covered  the  floor  in  fragments;  the  kitch- 
en echoed  with  oaths,  shouts  of  laughter,  and 
drinking  songs.  But  soon  sleep,  helped  by  the 
Orleans  wine,  made  his  power  felt  by  most  of 
the  actors  in  this  scene  of  riot.  The  soldiers 
stretched  themselves  on  the  benches;  the  cornet, 
after  posting  two  sentinels  at  the  door,  stag- 
gered to  bed;  the  captain,  who  still  preserved  a 
respect  for  straight  lines,  climbed,  without  a 
lurch,  the  staircase  leading  to  the  host’s  chamber, 
which  he  had  chosen  as  the  best  in  the  inn. 

But  what  had  become  of  Mergy  and  the 
gipsy?  Before  the  captain  began  to  sing  they 
had  disappeared  together. 

* [Literally,  “ The  Prince  of  Conde,  He  has  been  killed;  But  M. 
l’Amiral  Is  still  on  horseback,  With  La  Rochefoucauld,  To  hunt  all  the 
papists,  Papists,  papists,  papists!”] — Translator  s note. 


CHAPTER  II 


THE  MORROW  OF  A REVEL 

“ Chairman . I say  I will  have  my  money  instantly.” 

Moliere,  Les  Precieuses  Ridicules . 

DAY  had  long  dawned  when  Mergy  woke, 
his  head  still  something  flustered  with 
the  memories  of  the  night  before.  His 
clothes  lay  scattered  about  the  chamber,  and  his 
portmanteau  was  open  on  the  floor.  Sitting  up 
in  bed,  he  gazed  for  some  time  at  this  scene  of 
confusion,  rubbing  his  head  as  if  to  get  his  ideas 
into  order.  His  countenance  expressed  at  once 
weariness,  astonishment,  and  anxiety. 

Meanwhile,  a heavy  step  was  heard  on  the 
stone  stair  that  led  to  the  room.  The  door  was 
opened  without  the  formality  of  a knock,  and 
the  host  entered  with  an  air  even  sulkier  than 
that  of  yesterday;  but  now  his  looks  plainly 
showed  a touch  of  insolence  which  had  taken 
the  place  of  fear.  He  glanced  round  the  room, 
and  crossed  himself  as  if  horrified  at  such 
disorder. 

“Ah!  my  young  sir,”  he  said,  “still  abed? 
27 


28 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


Come,  get  up,  for  there  are  accounts  to  settle 
between  us.” 

Mergy,  with  an  appalling  yawn,  put  one  leg 
out  of  bed.  “ What  is  all  this  muddle?  Why  is 
my  portmanteau  open?  ” he  asked  in  a tone  at 
least  as  ill-tempered  as  the  host’s. 

“ Why?  Why?  ” answered  he.  “ How  do  I 
know?  What  do  I care  for  your  portmanteau? 
You  have  put  my  house  in  far  worse  plight.  But 
by  my  blessed  patron  Saint  Eustace  you  shall 
pay  me  for  it.” 

As  he  spoke,  Mergy  drew  on  his  scarlet 
breeches,  and  in  the  motion  his  pocket  gaped,  and 
his  purse  fell  out.  The  sound  must  have  been 
different  from  that  which  he  expected,  for  he 
picked  it  up  at  once  anxiously  and  opened  it. 

“ I have  been  robbed!  ” he  cried,  turning  to 
the  host.  For  instead  of  twenty  gold  crowns 
which  his  purse  had  held,  there  were  but  two. 
But  Master  Eustace  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
smiled  contemptuously. 

“ I have  been  robbed!  ” repeated  Mergy,  has- 
tily buckling  his  belt.  “ I had  twenty  gold 
crowns  in  this  purse,  and  I insist  on  having 
them  back.  ’Twas  in  your  house  they  were  taken 
from  me.” 

“ By  my  beard  I am  glad  of  it,”  cried  the 
host  insolently;  “that  will  teach  you  to  fore- 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


29 


gather  with  witches  and  thieves.  But,”  added  he 
in  a lower  tone,  “ like  draws  to  like.  All  these 
gallow-birds  of  a feather — heretics,  sorcerers, 
and  thieves — flock  together.” 

“ What  do  you  say,  scoundrel?  ” cried 
Mergy,  all  the  more  angry  that  he  felt  the 
justice  of  the  reproach,  and,  as  a man  usually 
does  when  he  is  in  the  wrong,  caught  eagerly  at 
a cause  of  quarrel. 

“ I say,”  said  the  host,  with  arms  akimbo  and 
uplifted  voice, — “ I say  that  you  have  broken 
everything  in  my  house,  and  I insist  that  you 
shall  pay  me  to  the  last  penny.” 

“ I will  pay  my  score,  and  not  a farthing 
over.  Where  is  Captain  Corn — Captain  Horn- 
stein?  ” 

“ Two  hundred  bottles,”  cried  Master 
Eustace,  still  raising  his  voice, — “ two  hundred 
bottles  of  my  good  old  wine  have  been  drunk. 
But  you  are  answerable  for  them.” 

Mergy  was  now  completely  dressed. 

“ Where  is  the  captain?  ” he  cried  in  a voice 
of  thunder. 

“ He  has  been  gone  more  than  two  hours ; and 
may  he  go  to  the  devil  with  all  the  other  Hugue- 
nots— till  we  can  find  time  to  burn  them.” 

A sound  box  on  the  ear  was  the  only  answer 
that  occurred  to  Mergy ; and  the  suddenness  and 


30 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


force  of  the  blow  made  the  host  fall  back  two 
steps.  His  grasp  sought  the  horn  handle  of  a 
great  knife  which  protruded  from  his  breeches 
pocket,  and  had  he  yielded  to  this  first  motion 
of  wrath,  some  serious  mischief  would  no  doubt 
have  happened.  But  prudence  arrested  anger, 
and  made  him  notice  that  Mergy  was  stretching 
out  his  own  hand  to  the  bed-head  where  hung  a 
long  rapier.  So  he  gave  up  the  unequal  contest, 
and  hurried  downstairs  yelling  “ Murder!  Fire!  ” 

In  possession  of  the  field  of  battle,  but  ex- 
ceedingly anxious  as  to  what  would  come  after 
the  victory,  Mergy  finished  buckling  on  his  belt, 
stuck  his  pistols  therein,  shut  his  portmanteau, 
and,  holding  it  in  his  hand,  resolved  to  lodge  his 
complaint  with  the  nearest  magistrate.  He 
opened  the  door,  and  was  setting  foot  on  the 
topmost  stair,  when  a troop  of  enemies  suddenly 
presented  itself. 

The  host  led  the  way,  an  old  halberd  in  hand ; 
three  scullions,  armed  with  spits  and  sticks,  fol- 
lowed hard;  a neighbour  with  a rusty  arquebuss 
brought  up  the  rear.  On  both  sides  the  meeting 
was  a surprise;  for  only  five  or  six  steps  separated 
the  foes. 

Mergy  dropped  his  portmanteau  at  once  and 
drew  a pistol,  which  hostile  manoeuvre  showed 
Master  Eustace  and  his  suite  how  faulty  their 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


31 


order  of  battle  was.  Like  the  Persians  at  the 
battle  of  Salamis,  they  had  forgotten  to  take 
up  a position  where  their  numbers  could  deploy 
with  advantage.  The  only  one  of  them  who 
carried  firearms  could  not  use  them  without  en- 
dangering his  companions  in  front,  while  the 
Huguenot’s  pistols,  enfilading  the  staircase, 
seemed  likely  to  knock  them  all  over.  They 
heard  the  click  of  the  pistol  as  Mergy  cocked  it, 
and  an  actual  detonation  could  not  have  fright- 
ened them  more.  With  one  accord  the  hostile 
column  turned  tail  and  fled,  to  seek  in  the  kitchen 
a roomier  and  more  advantageous  battlefield. 
In  the  disorder  which  inevitably  accompanies  a 
hurried  retreat,  the  host,  wishing  to  shift  his  hal- 
berd, entangled  it  in  his  legs  and  fell.  Like  a 
generous  foe,  disdaining  to  make  use  of  his  ac- 
tual weapons,  Mergy  contented  himself  with 
hurling  his  portmanteau  at  the  enemy,  and  this, 
falling  like  a mass  of  rock,  and  moving  faster  as 
it  fell  from  stair  to  stair,  finished  the  rout.  The 
staircase  remained  clear  of  foes,  with  the  broken 
halberd  as  a trophy. 

Mergy  at  once  made  for  the  kitchen,  where 
the  foe  had  re-formed  in  a single  line.  The 
arquebusier  had  his  weapon  in  position,  and  was 
blowing  his  lighted  match.  The  host,  covered 
with  blood  (for  his  nose  had  been  badly  bruised 


32 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


in  the  fall),  remained  behind  his  friends,  like  the 
wounded  Menelaus  behind  the  Grecian  ranks; 
while,  in  default  of  Machaon  or  Podalirius,  his 
wife,  with  dishevelled  hair  and  coif  unbound, 
staunched  his  face  with  a dirty  napkin.  There 
was  no  hesitation  in  Mergy’s  conduct.  He 
walked  straight  up  to  the  man  with  the  arquebuss 
and  held  the  muzzle  of  a pistol  to  his  breast. 

“ Drop  your  match,  or  you  die!  ” he  said. 
The  match  fell  to  earth,  and  Mergy,  setting 
his  foot  on  the  lighted  end,  extinguished  it; 
whereupon  all  the  allies  at  once  threw  down  their 
arms. 

“ As  for  you,”  said  Mergy  to  the  innkeeper, 
“ the  small  lesson  I have  given  you  will  no  doubt 
teach  you  to  treat  strangers  more  politely.  If 
I chose  I could  have  your  license  withdrawn  by 
the  bailiff  here;  but  I bear  no  malice.  Come, 
what  do  I owe  you  for  my  own  score?  ” 

Master  Eustace,  observing  that  he  had  un- 
cocked the  terrible  pistol,  and  was  as  he  spoke 
slipping  it  back  into  his  belt,  plucked  up  a little 
courage,  and  while  continuing  to  staunch  his 
wounds,  muttered  in  a melancholy  manner : 

“ You  break  the  dishes,  you  beat  people,  you 
break  good  Christian  noses,  you  make  hell’s  own 
riot.  After  that,  I do  not  see  how  you  can  make 
it  up  to  an  honest  man.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


33 


“ Come,”  went  on  Mergy  smiling,  “ I will 
pay  you  for  your  nose  at  my  valuation  of  it. 
As  for  your  broken  crockery,  you  must  go  to 
the  Reiters  for  that;  it  is  their  business.  And 
now  what  do  I owe  you  for  my  supper  yester- 
day? ” 

The  host  looked  at  his  wife,  his  scullions,  and 
his  neighbours,  as  if  to  ask  at  once  their  counsel 
and  their  help. 

“The  Reiters!  the  Reiters!”  said  he.  “A 
man  does  not  easily  see  the  colour  of  their  money. 
The  captain  gave  me  three  livres  and  the  cornet 
a kick.” 

Mergy  took  out  one  of  the  two  gold  crowns 
which  he  had  left.  “ Come,”  said  he,  “ we  will 
part  good  friends.”  And  he  threw  it  to  Master 
Eustace,  who,  instead  of  catching  it,  scornfully 
let  it  fall  on  the  floor. 

“A  crown!”  he  cried.  “A  crown  for  a 
hundred  broken  bottles!  A crown  for  sacking 
a house  and  beating  its  people!  ” 

“A  crown — only  a crown!”  chimed  in  his 
wife  in  an  equally  mournful  tone.  “ Catholic 
gentlemen  come  here  sometimes  and  make  a dis- 
turbance, but  at  least  they  know  the  value  of 
things.” 

Had  Mergy  been  more  in  funds  he  would 
no  doubt  have  kept  up  his  party’s  reputation 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


S4 

for  free-handedness.  As  it  was,  he  replied  drily, 
“Very  like;  but  these  Catholic  gentlemen  have 
not  been  robbed.  Make  up  your  minds,”  he 
added;  “take  the  crown  or  you  will  have  noth- 
ing,and  he  made  a step  forward  as  if  to  pick 
it  up.  The  hostess  seized  it  instantly.  “ Come, 
bring  me  my  horse;  and  you,  fellow,  drop  that 
spit  and  carry  my  portmanteau.” 

“ Your  horse,  sir?  ” said  one  of  Master 
Eustace’s  men,  making  a face.  But  the  host  him- 
self lifted  his  head  in  spite  of  his  vexation,  and 
his  eyes  sparkled  with  spiteful  pleasure. 

“ Oh,  yes ! I will  bring  him  myself,  my  good 
lord;  I will  bring  you  your  good  horse.”  And 
he  went  out  with  the  napkin  still  pressed  to  his 
face,  while  Mergy  followed. 

You  may  guess  his  surprise  when  he  saw  in 
the  place  of  the  bonny  chestnut  steed  which  had 
carried  him  thither  a little  old  broken-kneed  pie- 
bald, whose  appearance  was  still  further  im- 
proved by  a great  scar  on  the  head;  while  in- 
stead of  his  saddle  of  fine  Flanders  velvet  he 
beheld  a leathern  troop-saddle  mounted  with 
iron. 

“ What  do  you  mean  by  that?  ” he  cried. 
“ Where  is  my  horse?  ” 

“ Your  lordship  must  go  and  ask  the  Prot- 
estant Reiter  gentlemen  that,”  said  the  host 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


35 


with  feigned  humility.  “ The  worthy  strangers 
carried  him  off  with  them,  no  doubt  mistaking 
the  two,  as  they  were  so  like  one  another.” 

“ ’Tis  a fine  horse,”  said  a scullion;  “ I would 
bet  he  is  not  more  than  a twenty-year-old.” 

“No  one  can  say  he  is  no  charger,”  quoth 
another;  “ look  at  the  sword-wound  on  his  fore- 
head.” 

“His  coat  stares  finely,”  said  a third;  “’tis 
like  a minister’s,  black  and  white.” 

Mergy  went  into  the  stable,  which  was  quite 
empty. 

“ And  why  did  you  let  them  take  my  horse?  ” 
he  cried  in  a fury. 

“ By’r  Lady,  fair  sir,”  said  the  stableman, 
“ the  trumpeter  took  him  away,  and  told  me  that 
you  had  arranged  to  exchange  him.” 

Mergy,  choking  with  rage,  and  not  knowing 
what  to  be  at  in  this  accumulation  of  mis- 
fortunes, muttered  between  his  teeth,  “ I will 
find  the  captain,  and  he  shall  do  me  justice  on 
this  rascal  thief.” 

To  which  the  host  replied,  “ Your  lordship 
will  do  well;  for  this  Captain  what’s-his-name 
looked  like  a very  honest  fellow.”  (Now  Mergy 
had  himself  been  thinking  that  the  captain,  if 
he  had  not  ordered  the  theft,  must  have  winked 
at  it.)  “And,”  added  the  host,  “you  can  get 


36 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


back  your  gold  crowns  from  the  young  lady  at 
the  same  time.  She  must  have  made  a mistake, 
no  doubt,  in  packing  up  her  things  by  owl’s 
light.” 

“ Shall  I fasten  your  lordship’s  portmanteau 
on  your  lordship’s  horse?  ” said  the  ostler,  with 
the  most  intolerable  air  of  mock  respect. 

Mergy  understood  that  the  longer  he  stayed 
the  more  of  these  rascal’s  jests  he  should  have  to 
endure,  so  as  soon  as  the  portmanteau  was  fast- 
ened on,  he  jumped  into  his  awkward  saddle; 
but  the  horse,  feeling  that  he  had  a new  master, 
conceived  a malicious  desire  to  find  out  whether 
his  new  master  could  ride.  He  was  not  long, 
however,  in  discovering  that  he  had  to  do  with  a 
skilful  horseman,  in  less  temper  than  usual  to 
stand  any  nonsense,  and  so,  after  lashing  out  a 
little,  and  being  well  rewarded  by  the  digging  in 
of  some  exceedingly  sharp  spurs,  he  wisely  made 
up  his  mind  to  submit,  and  broke  into  a steady 
trot.  But  he  had  used  up  some  of  his  strength 
in  the  fight  with  his  rider;  and,  as  usually  hap- 
pens to  jades  in  such  a case,  he  fell,  stumbling, 
as  they  say,  with  all  four  feet  at  once.  Our 
hero  picked  himself  up  quickly,  a little  bruised, 
but  much  more  angry  at  the  jeers  which  were 
raised  behind  him.  He  even  hesitated  for  a mo- 
ment whether  he  should  go  and  take  vengeance 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


37 


with  the  flat  of  his  sword;  but  on  reflection 
he  contented  himself  with  making  as  though  he 
had  not  heard  the  distant  insults,  and  took  at  a 
slower  pace  the  Orleans  road,  pursued  for  a 
time  by  troops  of  children,  the  elders  singing 
the  ballad  of  “ Jehan  Petaquin,”*  while  the  lit- 
tle ones  cried  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  “ Fag- 
gots! faggots  for  the  Huguenot!  ” 

After  riding  in  sufficiently  bad  spirits  for 
half  a league  or  so  he  reflected  that  he  would 
not  be  likely  to  catch  up  the  Reiters  that  day; 
that  his  horse  was  probably  by  this  time  sold; 
that  at  any  rate  it  was  scarcely  doubtful  that 
these  gentry  would  not  give  him  up.  Little  by 
little  Mergy  made  up  his  mind  to  the  loss;  and 
as  in  the  case  of  his  horse  being  gone  for  good 
he  had  nothing  to  do  on  the  way  to  Orleans,  he 
made  once  more  for  Paris,  taking  a cross  road 
so  as  to  avoid  passing  the  unlucky  inn  which  had 
witnessed  his  disasters.  Little  by  little,  having 
accustomed  himself  early  to  look  upon  the  bright 
side  of  things,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
he  was  on  the  whole  fortunate  in  getting  off  so 
cheaply;  for  he  might  have  been  completely 
stripped,  not  to  say  murdered,  while  as  it  was 
he  had  a gold  crown  in  his  pocket,  almost  all 
his  clothes  intact,  and  a horse  who,  ugly  as  he  was, 

* An  absurd  personage  in  an  old  folk-song. 


88 


A CHRONICLE 


could  carry  him.  Also,  to  tell  the  truth,  the 
memory  of  the  fair  Mila  made  him  more  than 
once  smile.  Indeed,  after  a few  hours’  ride  and 
a good  breakfast,  he  felt  positively  affected  by 
the  girl’s  scrupulous  delicacy  in  taking  only 
eighteen  pieces  from  a purse  that  held  twenty. 
It  was  harder  to  stomach  the  loss  of  his  good 
chestnut;  but  he  was  bound  to  admit  that  a 
thief  more  hardened  than  the  trumpeter  would 
have  taken  his  horse  without  leaving  him  another. 
And  so  he  reached  Paris  that  evening,  just  be- 
fore the  gates  shut,  and  took  up  his  abode  at  an 
inn  in  the  Rue  Saint  Jacques. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  YOUNG  COURTIERS 

“ Iachimo . The  ring  is  won. 

Posthumus.  The  stone’s  too  hard  to  come  by. 

Iachimo.  Not  a whit,  your  lady  being  so  easy.” 

Shakespeare,  Cymbeline. 

MERGY’S  object  in  coming  to  Paris  was 
to  obtain  strong  recommendations  to 
the  Admiral  Coligny,  and  a commis- 
sion in  the  army  which  was  about,  men  said,  to 
fight  in  Flanders  under  that  great  captain’s  or- 
ders. He  hoped  that  certain  friends  of  his 
father’s,  to  whom  he  brought  letters,  would  sup- 
port his  demands  and  would  introduce  him  to 
the  King’s  Court  as  well  as  to  the  Admiral,  who 
had  a kind  of  court  of  his  own.  He  knew  that 
his  brother  was  high  in  favour;  but  he  was  as 
yet  quite  undecided  whether  to  seek  an  interview 
with  him  or  not.  George  de  Mergy’s  apostasy 
had  almost  entirely  cut  him  off  from  his  rela- 
tions, who  regarded  him  as  a stranger — a family 
split  which  religious  differences  made  by  no 

means  uncommon  at  the  time.  For  a great  while 

39 


40 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


George’s  father  had  forbidden  the  apostate’s 
name  to  be  uttered  in  his  hearing,  and  had  justi- 
fied his  severity  by  the  text,  “If  thy  right  eye 
offend  thee,  pluck  it  out.”  And  although  young 
Bernard  was  by  no  means  of  the  same  inflexible 
temper,  his  brother’s  change  of  opinions  ap- 
peared to  him  a stain  on  the  family  honour,  and 
his  fraternal  affection  had  naturally  suffered  in 
consequence. 

But  before  deciding  on  the  course  which  he 
should  take  as  regarded  his  brother,  and  even  be- 
fore presenting  his  letters  of  recommendation, 
he  thought  he  had  better  see  to  the  filling  of  his 
empty  purse,  and  with  this  object  set  out  from 
his  inn  to  visit  a goldsmith  on  the  Pont  St.  Mi- 
chel, who  owed  the  family  moneys  which  he  was 
empowered  to  claim. 

At  the  bridge-foot  he  met  some  elegantly 
dressed  young  men,  who,  walking  arm-in-arm, 
almost  entirely  obstructed  the  narrow  passage 
left  on  the  bridge  by  the  throng  of  shops  and 
booths,  which  rose  like  two  parallel  walls,  and 
completely  hid  the  view  of  the  river  from  the 
passers-by.  Behind  these  gentlemen  came  their 
lackeys,  each  holding  sheathed  in  his  hands  one 
of  the  long  double-edged  swords  called  “ duel- 
lers,” and  a dagger  with  so  large  a shell  that 
it  could  be  used  at  need  for  a shield.  Perhaps 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


41 


the  weight  of  these  weapons  was  too  much  for 
the  young  gentlemen,  or  else  they  were  pleased 
to  show  the  world  that  they  had  richly-dressed 
serving-men.  They  seemed  in  good  humour,  to 
judge  by  their  continual  shouts  of  laughter.  If 
a well-dressed  woman  passed  by,  they  saluted  her 
with  a mixture  of  politeness  and  impertinence, 
while  several  of  the  madcaps  amused  themselves 
by  rudely  elbowing  certain  grave  citizens  in 
black  cloaks,  who  went  off  grumbling  a thousand 
curses  on  the  insolence  of  the  courtiers.  One  only 
of  the  group  walked  with  bowed  head,  and 
seemed  to  take  no  share  whatever  in  their  amuse- 
ments. 

“Why,  d e,  George!”  cried  another, 

clapping  him  on  the  shoulder,  “ you  are  getting 
desperately  sulky.  It  is  a full  quarter  of  an 
hour  since  you  have  opened  your  mouth.  Are 
you  thinking  of  turning  Carthusian?  ” 

The  name  “George”  made  Mergy  start; 
but  he  did  not  hear  what  the  person  so  addressed 
answered. 

“ I will  bet  a hundred  pistoles,”  went  on  the 
first  speaker,  “ that  he  is  still  in  love  with  some 
paragon  of  virtue.  I am  sorry  for  you,  my  poor 
friend;  it  is  certainly  bad  luck  to  find  any  mis- 
tress unkind  in  Paris.” 

“ Go  to  Rudbeck  the  wizard,”  said  another; 


42 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ he  will  give  you  a potion  to  make  her  love 
you.” 

“ Perhaps,”  said  a third,  “ our  friend  the 
captain  is  in  love  with  a nun.  These  devils  of 
Huguenots,  converted  or  unconverted,  always 
mean  mischief  to  the  spouses  of  Christ.” 

A voice,  which  Mergy  knew  at  once,  replied 
sadly — 

“Faith!  I should  not  be  as  miserable  as  I 
am,  if  nothing  but  love-matters  were  at  stake. 
But,”  he  added,  dropping  his  voice,  “ De  Pons, 
to  whom  I gave  a letter  for  my  father,  has  re- 
turned and  tells  me  that  he  insists  on  having  noth- 
ing to  do  with  me.” 

“ Your  father  is  a chip  of  the  old  block,” 
said  one  of  the  young  men.  “ He  was  one  of 
the  Huguenots  who  tried  Amboise.” 

At  that  moment  Captain  George,  who  had 
turned  his  head,  perceived  Mergy,  and  with  a 
cry  of  surprise  and  open  arms  he  sprang  towards 
him.  Mergy  lost  not  a moment  in  holding  out  his 
own  hands,  and  hugged  him  to  his  breast.  It  may 
be  that  had  the  meeting  been  less  sudden,  he  might 
have  tried  to  steel  himself  up;  but  the  surprise 
gave  nature  her  rights.  From  that  moment  they 
looked  on  each  other  as  friends  who  meet  after 
a long  journey. 

After  the  first  embrace  and  the  first  inquiries, 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


43 


Captain  George  turned  to  his  friends,  some  of 
whom  had  stood  still  to  contemplate  the  pro- 
ceeding. 

“ Sirs,”  said  he,  “ you  have  been  witness  to 
this  unexpected  meeting.  Forgive  me  if  I leave 
you  to  entertain  a brother  whom  I have  not  seen 
for  more  than  seven  years.” 

“ But  we  do  not  mean  you  to  leave  us  at  all 
to-day.  Dinner  is  ordered,  and  you  must  come.” 
And  he  who  spoke  seized  George  at  the  same  time 
by  his  cloak. 

“ Beville  is  right,”  said  another;  “we  will 
not  let  you  go.” 

“ Why,  mordieu!  ” said  Beville,  “ let  your 
brother  dine  with  us.  Instead  of  one  good  fellow, 
we  shall  have  two.” 

“ Pardon  me,”  thereupon  said  Mergy,  “ but 
I have  much  business  to  do  to-day;  I have  let- 
ters to  deliver ” 

“ You  can  deliver  them  to-morrow.” 

“ They  must  be  delivered  to-day.  And,” 
added  Mergy,  smiling  a little  shamefacedly,  “ I 
must  tell  you  that  I am  penniless,  and  I must 

really  go  and  look  for  some  money ” 

“A  pretty  excuse,  good  faith!”  cried  they 
all.  “We  can  not  possibly  let  you  refuse  to  dine 
with  good  Christians  like  us  that  you  may  go  and 
borrow  from  Jews!  ” 


44 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ Come,  my  good  friend,”  said  Beville,  os- 
tentatiously shaking  a long  silk  purse  which 
swung  at  his  girdle,  “ look  upon  me  as  your 
banker.  The  dice  have  dealt  kindly  with  me  for 
a whole  fortnight.” 

“ Come  along;  let  us  not  waste  time,  but  go 
and  dine  at  the  Black  Boy,”  said  all  the  young 
men. 

Captain  George  looked  at  his  brother,  who 
was  still  uncertain.  “ After  all,  you  will  have 
plenty  of  time  to  deliver  your  letters.  As  for 
money,  I have  some;  so  come  with  us.  You  will 
see  how  we  live  in  Paris.” 

Mergy  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded,  and 
his  brother  introduced  him  formally  to  all  his 
friends  in  turn:  the  Baron  de  Yaudreuil,  the 
Chevalier  de  Rheincy,  the  Vicomte  de  Beville, 
and  so  on.  They  were  prodigal  of  caresses  to  the 
newcomer,  who  was  obliged  to  embrace  them  all 
one  after  the  other.  Beville  was  the  last  to  ex- 
change salutes  with  him. 

“ Oh!  oh!  ” quoth  he.  “ Curse  me,  comrade, 
but  I smell  a heretic.  My  gold  chain  to  a pistole 
that  you  are  of  the  religion.” 

“ ’Tis  true,  sir;  though  I am  not  as  good  a 
member  of  it  as  I ought  to  be.” 

“ There!  can  I not  tell  a Huguenot  among 
a thousand?  Ventre  de  loup ! how  serious  our 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


45 


Methodists  look  when  they  talk  of  their  re- 
ligion.” 

“ I think  one  should  never  speak  jestingly 
on  such  a subject.” 

“ M.  de  Mergy  is  right,”  said  Vaudreuil; 
“ and  as  for  you,  Beville,  this  ill-timed  pleasantry 
of  yours  on  sacred  things  will  bring  you  ill  luck.” 

“ There  is  a saint  for  you!  ” said  Beville  to 
Mergy.  “ He  is  the  most  outrageous  libertine 
of  us  all;  and  yet  he  gives  us  a sermon  now  and 
then.” 

“ Do  not  make  me  out  worse  than  I am,  Be- 
ville,” said  Vaudreuil.  “ If  I am  a libertine  it 
is  because  I can  not  subdue  the  flesh ; but  at  least 
I respect  what  ought  to  be  respected.” 

“For  my  part,  I respect  my  mother;  she  is 
the  only  honest  woman  I have  ever  known.  For 
the  rest,  my  good  fellow,  Catholics,  Huguenots, 
Turks,  and  Jews  are  all  the  same  to  me;  I rate 
their  quarrels  at  the  price  of  a broken  spur- 
rowel.” 

“Infidel!”  muttered  Vaudreuil;  and  he 
crossed  himself  over  the  mouth,  holding  his  hand- 
kerchief to  hide  it  meanwhile  as  much  as  he 
could. 

“ You  must  know,  Bernard,”  said  Captain 
George,  “ that  you  must  not  look  among  us  for 
disputants  like  your  and  my  learned  master. 


46 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


Theobald  Wolfsteinius.  We  do  not  care  much 
for  theological  discussions,  and,  thank  heaven, 
we  employ  our  time  better.” 

“ Yet  perhaps,”  said  Mergy  rather  bitterly, 
“ it  might  have  been  better  for  you  had  you  lis- 
tened attentively  to  the  learned  dissertations  of 
the  worthy  minister  you  have  named.” 

“ A truce  to  that,  little  brother;  we  may  talk 
of  it  again  perchance.  I know  what  you  think 
of  me,  but  never  mind.  We  are  not  here  to  talk 
of  such  matters.  I believe  I am  a man  of  honour, 
and  you  will  find  it  out  some  day.  Drop  the 
subject;  we  must  think  now  only  of  amusement.” 
And  he  passed  his  hand  over  his  brow  as  if  ta 
drive  off  painful  thoughts. 

Mergy  only  whispered,  “ Dear  brother ! ” 
and  pressed  his  hand.  George  replied  by  a sim- 
ilar pressure,  and  both  hurried  after  their  com- 
panions, who  were  somewhat  in  advance  of  them. 

As  they  passed  in  front  of  the  Louvre,  whence 
crowds  of  well-dressed  people  issued,  the  captain 
and  his  friends  gave  bow  or  embrace  to  almost  all 
the  noblemen  they  met,  at  the  same  time  intro- 
ducing young  Mergy,  who  in  this  way  made 
prompt  acquaintance  with  a vast  number  of 
celebrated  personages  of  the  day.  As  he  did  so 
he  was  told  their  nicknames  (for  everyone  of 
any  note  had  his  nickname  then),  as  well  as  the 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


47 


scandalous  stories  which  were  reported  about 
them. 

“ Do  you  see,”  they  said,  “ that  counsellor,  so 
pale  and  so  yellow?  That  is  Master  Petrus  de 
Finibus,  otherwise  Pierre  Seguier,  who  makes 
so  much  ado,  and  so  cleverly,  that  in  everything 
he  undertakes  he  always  gains  his  ends.  There 
is  Thore  de  Montmorency,  ‘ little  Captain  Burn- 
the-benches.’  There  is  his  grace  the  Archbishop 
of  Bottles,*  who  is  pretty  steady  on  his  mule, 
because  he  has  not  dined  yet.  Here  is  one  of 
the  heroes  of  your  own  party,  the  valiant  Count 
de  la  Rochefoucauld,  surnamed  the  Cabbage- 
killer.  In  the  last  war  he  riddled  with  shot  an 
unlucky  plot  of  cabbages  which  his  bad  sight 
made  him  take  for  Lanzknechts.” 

In  less  than  a quarter  of  an  hour  Mergy  knew 
the  names  of  the  lovers  of  almost  all  the  Court 
ladies,  and  the  number  of  duels  which  had  been 
brought  about  by  the  beauty  of  each.  He  re- 
marked that  the  more  deaths  a lady  had  been 
the  cause  of,  the  higher  did  her  fame  rank.  Thus 
Madame  de  Courtavel,  whose  recognised  lover 
had  killed  two  of  his  rivals,  was  far  better  re- 
puted than  the  unlucky  Countess  de  Pomerande, 
who  had  but  one  miserable  duel  (with  a mere 
scratch  as  a result)  to  her  name. 

* The  Archbishop  of  Guise. 


48 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


A lady  of  stately  figure,  mounted  on  a white 
mule,  which  was  led  by  an  equerry  and  followed 
by  two  lackeys,  attracted  Mergy’s  attention. 
Her  dress  was  of  the  newest  cut,  and  stiff  with 
embroidery.  As  far  as  he  could  judge  she  must 
be  beautiful;  but  at  that  time,  as  is  well  known, 
ladies  never  went  out  of  doors  save  masked.  Her 
mask  was  of  black  velvet,  and  you  could  see,  or 
rather  guess  from  what  showed  through  the  eye- 
holes, that  she  had  skin  of  a dazzling  whiteness 
and  eyes  of  a dark  blue.  She  slackened  her  mule’s 
pace  as  she  passed  the  young  men,  and  even 
seemed  to  look  somewhat  attentively  at  Mergy, 
whose  face  was  strange  to  her.  Plumed  hats 
swept  the  earth  on  the  path  before  her;  and  she 
bent  her  head  gracefully  to  return  the  numerous 
salutes  of  a double  row  of  admirers  as  she  passed. 
As  she  disappeared  a puff  of  wind  lifted  the 
hem  of  her  long  satin  gown,  and  showed,  as  by 
a flash  of  lightning,  a little  slipper  of  white 
velvet  and  some  inches  of  pink  silk  stocking. 

“ Who  is  that  lady  whom  everyone  salutes?  ” 
asked  Mergy  with  some  interest. 

“ What!  in  love  already?”  cried  Beville. 
“ Ah,  well,  it  is  always  her  way;  Huguenots  and 
Papists  alike,  all  fall  in  love  with  Countess  Diane 
de  Turgis.” 

“ She  is  one  of  the  Court  beauties,”  added 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


49 


George ; “ one  of  the  most  dangerous  of  Circes 
for  our  young  gallants.  Nor  is  the  fortress  easy 
to  carry,  confound  it.” 

“ What  is  her  record  of  duels?  ” asked 
Mergy,  smiling. 

“ Oh,  she  is  only  in  her  scores,”  answered  the 
Raron  de  Vaudreuil.  “ But  the  best  of  it  is  that 
she  wanted  to  fight  herself.  She  sent  a regular 
challenge  to  another  Court  lady  who  had  taken 
precedence  of  her.” 

“A  pretty  story!”  cried  Mergy. 

“ She  would  not  have  been  the  first  of  our 
time,”  said  George,  “ if  she  had  actually  fought. 
She  sent,  really  sent,  a perfectly  regular,  correct 
challenge  to  Madame  de  Sainte-Foix,  offering 
a duel  to  the  death  with  sword  and  dagger, 
stripped  to  the  shift,  just  as  a r affine  * duellist 
would  do.” 

“ I should  like  to  have  been  one  of  their 
seconds  to  see  them  both  in  that  costume,”  said 
the  Chevalier  de  Rheincy. 

“ And  did  the  fight  come  off?  ” said  Mergy. 

“No,”  said  George;  “the  matter  was  made 
up.” 

“ That  is  to  say,  he  made  it  up,”  said  Vau- 
dreuil, “ for  he  was  Madame  de  Sainte-Foix’s 
lover  at  the  time.” 

* The  term  of  the  day  for  a professional  duellist. 


50 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“Fie!  fie!  no  more  than  yourself,”  quoth 
George  with  a very  discreet  air. 

“ Madame  de  Turgis  is  like  Vaudreuil,”  said 
Beville,  “ she  hashes  up  religion  and  the  way  of 
the  world  together;  wants  to  fight  a duel  (which 
is,  I believe,  mortal  sin),  and  hears  two  masses 
a day.” 

“ Do  let  my  mass  and  me  alone!  ” cried  Vau- 
dreuil. 

“ Yes;  she  goes  to  mass,”  said  Rheincy,  “ hut 
it  is  to  show  herself  unmasked.” 

“ Why,  ’tis  just  for  that  that  so  many  women 
go  to  mass,”  remarked  Mergy,  pleased  at  finding 
a chance  of  jesting  at  the  religion  which  was  not 
his  own. 

“ And  to  meeting,  too,”  said  Beville.  “ When 
the  sermon  is  done,  the  lights  are  put  out,  and 
then  there  are  fine  doings.  ’Sdeath!  it  tempts  me 
terribly  to  turn  Lutheran.” 

“ And  you  believe  those  absurd  stories?  ” said 
Mergy  disdainfully. 

“ Do  I believe  them?  Why,  little  Ferrand, 
whom  we  all  know,  used  to  go  to  meeting  at 
Orleans  to  see  a notary’s  wife.  A very  fine 
woman,  by  Jove!  He  used  to  make  my  mouth 
water  by  talking  of  her.  He  could  see  her  no- 
where else;  and  luckily  a Huguenot  friend  of 
his  had  given  him  the  password,  so  he  got  into 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


51 


the  meeting-house;  and  I leave  you  to  guess 
whether  our  comrade  employed  his  time  well  in 
the  dark  or  not.” 

“ But  that  is  impossible,”  said  Mergy  drily. 
“ Impossible?  Pray  why?  ” 

“ Because  no  Protestant  would  be  so  base  as 
to  let  a Papist  into  meeting.” 

The  answer  was  greeted  with  loud  laughter. 
“ What!  ” said  Vaudreuil.  “You  think  that 
because  a man  is  a Huguenot  he  can  neither  be 
a thief,  nor  a traitor,  nor  a pimp?  ” 

“ He  must  have  fallen  from  the  moon!  ” cried 
Rheincy. 

“ For  my  part,”  said  Beville,  “ if  I had  to 
send  a billet  to  a Huguenot  beauty,  I should 
go  straight  to  her  minister.” 

“ Because,  I suppose,”  answered  Mergy, 
“ you  are  accustomed  to  employ  your  priests  in 
the  same  way.” 

“Our  priests?”  said  Vaudreuil,  reddening 
angrily. 

“ I pray  you,  leave  off  this  tiresome  talk,” 
interrupted  George,  who  noticed  the  offensive 
sharpness  of  each  repartee.  “ Let  us  leave  all 
the  canters  of  all  the  sects  alone.  I vote  that 
the  first  who  says  ‘ Huguenot,’  ‘ Papist,’  ‘ Prot- 
estant,’ or  ‘ Catholic  ’ shall  pay  forfeit.” 

“Agreed!”  cried  Beville.  “He  shall  pay 


iy  OF  MU* 


52 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


for  a round  of  the  good  Cahors  wine  at  the  inn 
where  we  are  going  to  dine.”  And  there  was 
silence  for  a moment. 

“ Since  poor  Lannoy  was  killed  before  Or- 
leans, Madame  de  Turgis  has  had  no  known 
lover,”  said  George,  who  wished  to  divert  his 
friends  from  theological  ideas. 

“ Who  would  dare  to  assert  that  a lady  of 
Paris  has  no  lover?  ” cried  Seville.  “ ’Tis  certain 
that  Comminges  presses  her  hard.” 

“ That  is  the  reason,”  said  Vaudreuil,  “ that 
young  Navarette  gave  up;  he  was  afraid  of  such 
a redoubtable  rival.” 

“Is  Comminges  jealous,  then?”  asked  the 
captain. 

“ Like  a tiger,”  answered  Reville ; “ and  he 
declares  he  will  kill  anyone  who  dares  love  the 
fair  countess;  so  that  in  order  not  to  be  left 
without  any  lover  at  all,  she  must  make  up  her 
mind  to  take  Comminges.” 

“ Who  is  this  fire-eater?  ” asked  Mergy,  who, 
without  quite  knowing  why,  felt  a lively  curiosity 
as  to  everything  concerning  the  Countess  de 
Turgis. 

“ He  is,”  answered  Rheincy,  “ one  of  our 
most  famous  raffines;  and  as  you  come  from  the 
country,  I will  explain  our  Court  lingo  to  you. 
A raffine  is  an  accomplished  gentleman — a man 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


53 


who  fights  when  another’s  cloak  touches  his  own, 
when  a man  spits  within  four  feet  of  him, 
or,  in  short,  for  any  other  equally  reasonable 
reason.” 

“ Comminges,”  said  Vaudreuil,  “ took  a man 
one  day  to  the  Pre-aux-Clercs ; * they  doff  ed 
their  coats  and  drew  swords.  ‘ Are  you  not 
Berny  of  Auvergne?’  said  Comminges.  ‘No,’ 
said  the  other;  ‘my  name  is  Villequier,  and  I 
come  from  Normandy.’  ‘ That  is  a pity,’  said 
Comminges ; ‘ I have  mistaken  my  man.  But  as 
I have  challenged  you,  we  must  fight.’  And  he 
killed  him  merrily.” 

Each  one  added  some  instance  of  Comminges’ 
skill  or  his  quarrelsome  temper;  the  subject  was 
fertile,  and  the  conversation  lasted  them  till  they 
were  out  of  the  town,  at  the  Black  Boy.  This 
was  an  inn  placed  in  a garden  near  the  site  where 
the  Tuileries,  begun  in  1564,  was  in  process  of 
building.  Many  more  gentlemen  of  George’s 
friends  met  them  there,  and  they  sat  down  to 
table  a numerous  company. 

Mergy,  who  sat  by  Vaudreuil’s  side,  noticed 
that  his  neighbour  in  sitting  down  crossed  him- 
self and  muttered  with  shut  eyes  and  in  a low 
voice  this  singular  grace:  Laus  Deo , pax  viviSj 


* The  locus  classicus  of  duels  at  the  time.  It  lay  in  front  of  the  Louvre, 
in  the  space  between  the  Rue  des  Petits-Augustins  and  the  Rue  du  Bac. 


54 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


salutem  de  fundi,  et  beat  a viscera  virginis  Marice 
quce  portaverunt  ceterni  Patris  Filium. 

“ Do  you  know  Latin,  Baron?  ” asked 
Mergy. 

“ What!  you  heard  my  grace?  ” 

“Yes;  but  I confess  that  I did  not  under- 
stand it.” 

“ To  tell  you  the  truth,  I do  not  understand 
Latin  myself,  and  have  no  clear  idea  what  the 
prayer  means;  but  I learnt  it  from  one  of  my 
aunts,  who  found  it  very  efficacious,  and  since 
I have  used  it  I have  been  well  satisfied  with 
the  result.” 

“ I think  it  must  be  Catholic  Latin,  and  there- 
fore we  Huguenots  can  not  comprehend  it.” 

“A  forfeit!  a forfeit!”  cried  Beville  and 
Captain  George  at  once.  Mergy  submitted  with 
a good  grace;  and  fresh  bottles,  which  promptly 
put  the  company  in  good  humour,  were  set  on 
the  table. 

The  conversation  soon  became  noisier,  and 
Mergy  availed  himself  of  the  tumult  to  talk 
to  his  brother  without  attending  to  what  was 
going  on  round  them.  But  this  aside  was  in- 
terrupted at  the  end  of  the  second  course  by  the 
noise  of  a violent  dispute  between  two  of  the 
guests. 

“ ’Tis  false!  ” cried  the  Chevalier  de  Rheincy. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


55 


“ False!”  said  Vaudreuil,  his  naturally  pale 
face  becoming  corpse-like  in  hue. 

“ She  is  the  most  virtuous,  the  chastest  of 
women!  ” went  on  the  chevalier. 

Vaudreuil  smiled  bitterly  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  All  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  dispu- 
tants, and  each  man,  in  a sort  of  silent  neutrality, 
seemed  to  be  waiting  for  the  upshot  of  the 
quarrel. 

“What  is  the  matter,  sirs?  and  what  is  this 
noise  for?  ” asked  the  captain,  ready  as  usual 
to  prevent  a breach  of  the  peace. 

“ Our  friend  the  chevalier,”  said  Beville 
placidly,  “ insists  that  Madame  de  Sillery,  his 
mistress,  is  chaste;  while  our  friend  Vaudreuil 
declares  that  she  is  not,  and  that  he  has  reason 
to  know  it.” 

The  laugh  which  followed  increased  Rheincy’s 
rage,  and  he  fixed  eyes  of  fury  on  both  Vaudreuil 
and  Beville. 

“ I could  show  letters  of  hers,”  said  Vaudreuil. 

“ I dare  you  to  do  so!  ” cried  the  chevalier. 

“Well,”  said  Vaudreuil,  with  a very  evil 
sneer  on  his  face,  “ I will  read  one  to  these  gentle- 
men; they  may  know  her  writing  as  well  as  my- 
self, for  I am  not  coxcomb  enough  to  boast  the 
monopoly  of  her  letters  or  her  favours  either. 
Here  is  a note  I received  this  very  day,”  and 


56 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


he  made  as  if  he  would  rummage  his  pocket  for 
a letter. 

“ You  lie  in  your  throat!  ” 

The  table  was  too  broad  for  the  baron’s  hand 
to  reach  his  foe,  who  sat  right  opposite  him; 
but  he  cried,  “ I will  drive  that  ‘ lie  ’ down  your 
own  till  it  chokes  you!  ” And  he  flung  a bottle 
at  his  adversary’s  head  as  he  spoke.  Rheincy 
dodged  the  blow,  and  upsetting  his  chair  in  his 
haste,  sprang  to  the  wall  to  take  down  his  sword 
which  hung  there. 

All  rose,  some  to  interpose  in  the  quarrel, 
most  to  keep  clear  of  it. 

“ Stop,  you  madmen,”  cried  George,  getting 
in  front  of  the  baron,  who  was  nearest  him; 
“ ought  two  friends  to  fight  for  the  sake  of  a 
wench?  ” 

“ A bottle  flung  at  one’s  head  is  as  bad  as  a 
blow,”  said  Beville  coolly.  “ Come,  chevalier, 
my  friend,  out  with  your  sword.” 

“ Fair  play!  fair  play!  a ring!  ” cried  almost 
all  the  guests. 

“ Shut  the  door,  Jack,”  calmly  said  the  host 
of  the  Black  Boy,  who  was  quite  used  to  scenes 
of  this  kind.  “If  the  police  were  to  pass  it 
might  interrupt  the  gentlemen,  and  do  harm 
to  the  house.” 

“ Will  you  fight  in  a tavern-room  like 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


57 


drunken  Lanzknechts?  ” persisted  George,  anx- 
ious to  gain  time.  “ At  least  wait  till  to- 
morrow.” 

“ To-morrow  be  it,”  said  Rheincy,  offering 
to  sheath  his  sword. 

“ Our  little  chevalier  is  afraid,”  said  Vau- 
dreuil;  whereat  Rheincy,  thrusting  aside  those 
in  his  way,  dashed  on  his  enemy.  Both  attacked 
furiously,  but  Vaudreuil  had  had  time  to  twist 
a napkin  carefully  round  his  left  arm,  and  he 
used  this  with  skill  to  ward  off  cuts,  while 
Rheincy,  who  had  neglected  a similar  precaution, 
was  wounded  in  the  left  hand  at  the  first  passes. 
But  he  fought  on  bravely,  shouting  to  his  foot- 
boy  to  bring  him  his  poniard.  Seville  stopped 
the  lackey,  declaring  that  as  Vaudreuil  had  no 
dagger  his  foe  must  have  none.  Some  of  the 
chevalier’s  friends  protested,  sharp  words  were 
exchanged,  and  the  duel  might  have  turned  into 
a general  affray  if  Vaudreuil  had  not  ended  it 
by  striking  his  enemy  down  with  a severe  wound 
in  the  breast.  He  set  his  foot  on  Rheincy’s 
sword  to  prevent  his  picking  it  up,  and  raised 
his  own  to  give  the  coup  de  grace — a piece  of 
savagery  which  the  duelling  rules  of  the  time 
permitted. 

Kill  a disarmed  foe?”  cried  George;  and 
he  wrested  Vaudreuil’s  sword  from  his  hand. 


58 


A CHRONICLE 


The  chevalier’s  wound  was  not  mortal,  but 
he  bled  freely.  They  bandaged  him  up  as  best 
they  could  with  napkins,  while  he  muttered  with 
a forced  laugh  that  the  matter  was  not  at  an 
end.  Soon  there  appeared  a monk  and  a sur- 
geon, who  wrangled  for  some  time  as  to  which 
should  take  charge  of  the  wounded  man.  The 
surgeon  got  the  better,  and  having  made  them 
carry  his  patient  to  the  Seine-bank,  he  conveyed 
him  in  a boat  to  his  lodgings.  Meanwhile  some 
of  the  servants  took  away  the  bloody  napkins 
and  washed  the  floor,  while  others  set  fresh 
bottles  on  the  table.  As  for  Vaudreuil,  after 
very  carefully  wiping  his  sword,  he  sheathed  it, 
crossed  himself,  and  with  unruffled  calm  drew 
a letter  from  his  pocket,  requested  silence,  and 
read  the  first  line,  which  excited  roars  of  laugh- 
ter— 

“ My  darling,  that  troublesome  chevalier  who 
pesters  me ” 

“ Let  us  go,”  said  Mergy  to  his  brother,  with 
an  expression  of  disgust.  The  captain  followed 
him,  and  the  general  attention  paid  to  the  letter 
prevented  their  departure  from  being  noticed. 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE  CONVERT 

“ Don  Juan.  What  ? You  take  what  I have  just  said  for 
current  coin;  and  you  believe  that  my  mouth  speaks  in  unison 
with  my  heart  ? ” — Moliere,  Le  Festin  de  Pierre. 

THE  captain  returned  to  town  with  his 
brother,  and  took  him  to  his  lodgings. 
They  spoke  little  as  they  walked  thither ; 
for  the  scene  which  they  had  just  witnessed  had 
left  on  them  a painful  impression,  which  made 
them  silent  in  spite  of  themselves.  Yet  the  quar- 
rel, and  the  irregular  duel  which  followed,  were 
nothing  out  of  the  way  for  the  time.  From  one 
end  of  France  to  the  other  the  touchy  suscepti- 
bility of  the  nobles  caused  the  most  painful  in- 
cidents; so  that  at  a moderate  calculation  the 
rage  for  duels  cost  more  lives  under  the  reigns 
of  Henry  III.  and  Henry  IV.  than  ten  years  of 
civil  war. 

The  captain’s  lodgings  were  furnished  with 
taste.  Embroidered  silk  curtains,  and  carpets 
of  bright  hue,  at  once  caught  the  eyes  of  Mergy, 
who  was  accustomed  to  simpler  fashions.  He 

entered  a small  apartment  which  his  brother 

59 


60 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


called  his  oratory,  the  name  of  boudoir  not  having 
been  yet  invented.  A faldstool  of  oak  elabo- 
rately carved,  a Madonna  by  an  Italian  master, 
and  a holy-water  stoup  with  its  thick  spray  of 
box,  seemed  to  justify  the  chamber’s  sacred  des- 
ignation; while  a sofa  covered  in  black  damask, 
a mirror  of  Venice  glass,  a portrait  of  a lady, 
weapons,  and  musical  instruments,  suggested 
that  the  inmate  was  not  unaccustomed  to  occupa- 
tions something  mundane  in  character. 

Mergy  cast  a contemptuous  eye  on  the  holy- 
water  stoup  and  its  sprig,  which  reminded  him 
disagreeably  of  his  brother’s  apostasy.  A lackey 
boy  brought  preserves,  sweetmeats,  and  white 
wine;  for  tea  and  coffee  were  not  yet  in  use,  and 
the  simple  tastes  of  our  ancestors  put  up  with 
wine  in  the  place  of  all  such  modish  drinks. 

Mergy,  glass  in  hand,  still  kept  looking  from 
the  Madonna  to  the  stoup,  and  from  the  stoup 
to  the  faldstool.  He  sighed  deeply;  and  gazing 
at  his  brother,  who  had  stretched  himself  with  a 
nonchalant  air  on  the  couch,  he  said,  “ Your 
Popish  equipment  is  complete.  What  would 
our  mother  say  if  she  were  here?  ” 

The  notion  seemed  to  pain  the  captain.  He 
bent  his  bushy  eyebrows,  and  waved  his  hand 
as  if  to  ask  his  brother  not  to  broach  such  a 
subject;  but  Mergy  went  on  pitilessly: 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


61 


“ Can  you  possibly  have  abjured  our  family 
faith  with  your  heart  as  you  have  with  your 
lips?  ” 

“ Our  family  faith?  it  was  never  mine! 
What?  I believe  in  the  canting  sermons  that 
your  ministers  twang  through  their  noses? 
I •" 

“ And  it  is  better  of  course  to  believe  in  pur- 
gatory, in  confession,  in  the  infallibility  of  the 
Pope?  It  is  better  to  throw  oneself  before  the 
dusty  sandals  of  a Capuchin?  The  time  will 
come  when  you  will  think  you  can  not  dine  with- 
out gabbling  the  Baron  de  Vaudreuirs  grace.” 

“ Listen  to  me,  Bernard.  I hate  argument, 
especially  religious  argument;  but  I must  have 
an  explanation  with  you  sooner  or  later,  and  since 
we  have  begun  let  us  finish.  I will  speak  to  you 
without  concealment.” 

“ Then  you  do  not  believe  in  the  absurd  in- 
ventions of  the  Papists?  ” 

The  captain  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  let 
one  of  his  large  spurs  ring  again  as  he  dropped 
his  heel  on  the  floor.  “ Papists?  ” he  cried,  “ Hu- 
guenots? What  is  there  on  either  side  but  su- 
perstition? I can  not  believe  what  reason  shows 
me  to  be  absurd.  Our  litanies  and  your  psalms 
are  both  nonsense;  one  as  bad  as  the  other. 
Only,”  he  added,  smiling,  “ there  is  sometimes 


62 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


good  music  in  our  churches,  while  you  wage  im- 
mortal war  with  ears  of  taste.” 

“ A pretty  advantage  for  your  religion,  and 
a good  reason  for  making  proselytes  to  it!  ” 

“ Do  not  call  it  my  religion,  for  I believe  in 
it  no  more  than  in  yours.  Since  I could  think 
for  myself,  since  my  reason  has  been  left  un- 
controlled  ” 

“ But ” 

“ A truce  with  preachments.  I know  by  heart 
everything  that  you  can  say  to  me.  I too  have 
had  my  hopes  and  my  fears.  Do  you  think  I 
have  not  striven  my  utmost  to  keep  the  happy 
superstitions  of  childhood?  I have  read  all  the 
divines  to  find  solace  for  the  doubts  that  fright- 
ened me,  and  I but  made  them  stronger.  In 
short,  I could  not  and  I can  not  believe.  The 
precious  gift  of  faith  has  been  refused  me,  hut 
I would  not  for  the  world  deprive  others  of  it.” 
“ I am  sorry  for  you.” 

“ There,  you  are  right  enough.  As  a Prot- 
estant I did  not  believe  in  meeting;  as  a Catho- 
lic I do  not  believe  any  more  in  the  mass.  Are 
not  the  savageries  of  our  civil  wars  enough,  in 
God’s  name,  to  uproot  the  strongest  faith?  ” 

“ But  they  are  the  work  of  men  only,  and  of 
men  who  have  perverted  the  word  of  God.” 

“ That  answer  is  not  original;  but  you  must 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


63 


not  complain  if  I am  still  unconvinced.  I do 
not  and  I can  not  comprehend  your  Deity;  and 
if  I did  believe,  it  would  be,  as  our  friend  Jodelle 
says,  ‘ with  all  rights  reserved.’  ” 

“ But  if  the  two  faiths  are  indifferent  to  you, 
why  that  abjuration  which  has  hurt  your  family 
and  your  friends  so  much?  ” 

“ I have  written  at  least  a score  of  times  to 
my  father  to  explain  my  reasons  to  him  and 
excuse  myself ; but  he  has  thrown  my  letters  un- 
opened into  the  fire,  and  has  behaved  to  me  more 
harshly  than  if  I had  committed  some  great 
crime.” 

“ Neither  my  mother  nor  I approved  this 
excessive  sternness  of  his;  and  if  we  had  not 

received  positive  orders ” 

“I  do  not  know  what  has  been  thought  of 
me,  and  I do  not  much  care;  but  I will  tell  you 
what  made  me  take  a sudden  step,  which,  no 
doubt,  I should  not  take  if  the  thing  were  to 
be  done  afresh.” 

“ Ah!  I always  thought  you  would  repent  of 
it.” 

“ Repent  of  it?  No;  for  I do  not  think  that 
I did  ill.  When  you  were  still  at  school,  busy 
with  Latin  and  Greek,  I had  harness  on  back, 
had  donned  the  white  scarf,*  and  was  fighting 

* The  reformers  had  chosen  this  party  colour. 


64 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


in  our  first  civil  war.  Your  little  Prince  of 
Conde,  who  was  responsible  for  so  many  of  your 
faction’s  faults — your  Prince  of  Conde,  I say, 
used  to  mind  your  business  when  his  gallantries 
gave  him  time.  A lady  loved  me  and  the  prince 
wanted  me  to  give  her  up  to  him;  I refused, 
and  he  became  my  mortal  enemy.  So  he  set 
himself  to  inflict  on  me  all  possible  mortifications. 
‘ The  pretty  little  prince  who  is  always  kissing 
his  ladylove  ’ pointed  me  out  to  the  extremists 
of  the  party  as  a monster  of  debauchery  and 
irreligion.  Now  I had  but  one  mistress,  and 
I clave  to  her.  As  for  irreligion,  I let  others 
alone,  why  should  they  pick  a quarrel  with  me?  ” 

“ I should  have  thought  it  impossible  that 
the  prince  could  behave  so  ill.” 

“ He  is  dead,  and  you  have  made  a hero 
of  him,  which  is  the  way  of  the  world.  He  was 
not  without  merits.  He  died  like  a brave  man, 
and  I have  forgiven  him.  But  at  that  time  he 
was  all-powerful,  and  resistance  on  the  part  of 
a poor  gentleman  like  me  seemed  to  him  a 
crime.” 

The  captain  paced  the  chamber  for  some  time, 
and  then  continued  in  a voice  of  ever-increasing 
passion : 

“ Every  minister,  every  fanatic  in  the  army 
was  soon  set  upon  me.  I cared  as  little  for  their 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


65 


snarling  as  for  their  sermons;  but  one  of  the 
prince's  gentlemen,  to  curry  favour  with  his 
master,  called  me  ‘ Lecher  ’ before  all  our  cap- 
tains. I boxed  his  ears  first,  and  killed  him 
afterwards.  There  were  at  least  a dozen  duels 
a day  in  the  army,  and  our  generals  turned  blind 
eyes  to  them.  But  I was  made  an  exception; 
and  the  prince  determined  that  I should  be  a 
lesson  to  the  whole  army.  The  entreaties  of  all 
the  men  of  quality — including,  I must  own,  the 
Admiral — obtained  my  pardon;  but  the  prince’s 
hatred  was  not  satisfied.  At  Jazeneuil  fight  I 
was  in  command  of  a company  of  pistoliers;  I 
had  been  in  the  front  of  the  melee;  two  musket- 
ball  dents  in  my  cuirass  and  a lance-wound 
through  my  left  arm  showed  that  I had  not 
spared  myself.  I had  twenty  men  left,  and  a 
full  battalion  of  the  King’s  Swiss  was  marching 
on  us.  The  Prince  of  Conde  bade  me  charge 
them ; I asked  him  for  two  companies  of  Reiters, 
and — he  called  me  a coward!  ” 

Mergy  started  up  and  seized  his  brother’s 
hand.  But  the  captain  continued,  still  pacing 
up  and  down  with  eyes  flashing  fury. 

“ He  called  me  coward  before  all  these  gentry 
in  their  gilded  armour,  who  a few  months  after- 
wards deserted  him  and  left  him  to  be  killed  at 
J arnac.  I felt  that  there  was  nothing  to  do  but 


66 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


to  die.  I dashed  at  the  Swiss,  swearing  that  if 
by  any  chance  I came  off  with  my  life,  I would 
never  draw  sword  again  for  so  unjust  a prince. 
Wounded  severely  and  unhorsed,  I was  on  the 
point  of  being  killed,  when  one  of  the  Duke  of 
Anjou’s  gentlemen,  Beville,  the  same  madcap 
with  whom  we  dined  to-day,  saved  my  life,  and 
introduced  me  to  the  duke.  I was  well  treated, 
and  I was  thirsting  for  revenge.  They  made 
much  of  me ; they  urged  me  to  take  service  with 
my  benefactor  the  duke;  they  quoted  the  line — 

“Omne  solum  forti  patria  est,  ut  piscibus  sequor.” 

I was  disgusted  at  the  Protestants  for  calling 
foreigners  into  our  country.  But  why  not  con- 
fess the  one  true  reason  which  actuated  me?  I 
longed  for  vengeance,  and  I turned  Catholic  in 
hopes  of  meeting  the  Prince  of  Conde  on  the 
battle-field  and  killing  him.  A coward  under- 
took the  business  of  paying  my  debts;  and  the 
way  in  which  he  was  killed  almost  made  me 
forget  my  hatred.  I saw  him  a bleeding 
prey  to  the  soldiers’  insults:  I rescued  his  corpse 
from  their  hands,  and  flung  my  own  mantle  over 
it.  But  I was  already  pledged  to  the  Catholics: 
I had  a troop  in  their  cavalry,  and  I could  not 
leave  them.  Luckily,  I think  I may  say  I have 
been  of  some  service  to  my  old  side:  I tried 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


67 


whenever  I could  to  soften  the  rage  of  a re- 
ligious war,  and  I was  fortunate  enough  to  save 
the  lives  of  some  old  friends.” 

“ Oliver  de  Basse ville  tells  everyone  that  he 
owes  his  life  to  you.” 

“ So  I am  a Catholic  now,”  said  George  in 
a calmer  tone.  “It  is  as  good  a religion  as 
any  other;  for  it  is  so  easy  to  get  on  with  their 
pious  people.  You  see  that  pretty  Madonna? 
’Tis  the  portrait  of  an  Italian  courtesan;  and 
yet  fanatics  admire  my  piety,  while  they  cross 
themselves  before  her  virginship.  I warrant  you 
I have  an  easier  time  with  them  than  with  our 
ministers.  I can  live  as  I please  at  the  cost  of 
a very  few  sacrifices  to  the  prejudices  of  the 
vulgar.  One  must  go  to  mass:  I go  now  and 
then — to  look  at  the  pretty  women.  One  must 
have  a confessor:  well,  mine  is  a Franciscan,  a 
capital  fellow,  who  has  been  a horse  arque- 
busier,  and  who  for  a crown  gives  me  my  con- 
fession ticket,  and  carries  my  own  billets  to  his 
pretty  penitents  into  the  bargain.  Death  of  my 
fife!  the  mass  for  ever!  ” 

Mergy  could  not  help  smiling. 

“ Here,”  went  on  the  captain,  “ is  my  Church 
Service,”  and  he  threw  him  a book  richly  bound 
in  velvet  cover  and  silver  clasps ; “ these  ‘ Hours  ’ 
are  well  worth  your  Prayer-books.” 


68 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


Mergy  read  on  the  back,  44  Hours  of  the 
Court.” 

“ It  is  a pretty  binding,”  said  he  scornfully, 
handing  the  book  back. 

The  captain  opened  it,  and  returned  it  again 
with  a smile.  Mergy  read  on  the  title-page, 
44  The  Very  Horrific  Life  of  the  Great  Gar- 
gantua,  Father  of  Pantagruel.  Composed  by 
Master  Alcof ribas,  Extractor  of  Quintessence.” 
“ That  is  the  book  for  me,”  cried  the  captain 
laughing.  “ I rate  it  higher  than  all  the  divinity 
books  in  the  Geneva  Library.” 

“ They  say,  no  doubt,  that  the  author  was 
learned  enough,  but  he  has  hardly  made  a good 
use  of  his  learning.” 

George  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

44  Read  it,  Bernard,  and  you  shall  tell  me 
what  you  think  of  it  afterwards.” 

Mergy  took  the  book,  but  after  a moment’s 
silence : 

44 1 am  still  sorry,”  said  he,  44  that  mere  dis- 
gust, however  well-founded,  should  have  drawn 
you  into  a step  which  you  will  certainly  repent 
some  day.” 

The  captain’s  head  sank,  and  his  eyes  ap- 
peared to  be  carefully  tracing  the  pattern  of  the 
carpet  at  his  feet.  44  What  is  done  is  done,” 
said  he,  smothering  a sigh.  44  Perhaps,”  he  added 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


69 


in  a gayer  tone,  “ I shall  come  back  to  meeting 
some  day.  Rut  meanwhile  let  us  drop  the  sub- 
ject: promise  me  never  to  return  to  one  so 
tiresome.” 

“ I hope  your  own  conscience  will  do  more 
than  my  lectures  or  my  advice.” 

“ Be  it  so.  And  now  let  us  talk  of  your  busi- 
ness. What  was  your  object  in  coming  to 
Court?  ” 

“ I hope  for  strong  enough  recommendations 
to  the  Admiral  to  obtain  admission  for  me  among 
his  gentlemen  in  the  campaign  he  is  going  to 
make  in  the  Netherlands.” 

“ I do  not  like  your  plan.  No  gentleman 
who  has  a good  heart  in  his  breast  and  a sword 
by  his  side  ought  of  his  own  free  will  to  make 
a lackey  of  himself.  Volunteer  for  the  Royal 
Guards;  for  my  own  company  of  light  horse, 
if  you  like.  You  will  make  the  campaign,  as 
we  all  shall,  under  the  Admiral’s  orders;  but  at 
least  you  will  be  no  one’s  body-servant.” 

“ But  I have  no  desire  to  join  the  King’s 
Guard;  I had  even  much  rather  not.  It  would 
please  me  well  enough  to  serve  in  your  com- 
pany; but  my  father  wishes  me  to  make  my  first 
campaign  under  the  Admiral’s  immediate  lead- 
ing.” 

“ That  is  like  you  Huguenot  gentry.  You 


70 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


preach  union,  and  yet  you  bear  old  grudges 
worse  than  we  do  ours.” 

“ How  so?  ” 

“ Why,  you  still  look  on  the  King  as  a 
tyrant,  an  ‘ Ahab,’  as  your  ministers  call  him. 
Nay,  he  is  not  even  your  king;  he  is  an  usurper; 
and  since  the  death  of  Louis  XIII.,*  ’tis  Gas- 
pard  I.  who  is  King  of  France.” 

“ That  is  an  idle  jest.” 

“Well,  well;  you  may  as  well  serve  old 
Gaspard  as  the  Duke  of  Guise;  for  M.  de  Cha- 
tillon  is  really  a great  captain,  and  you  will  learn 
your  trade  under  him.” 

“ So  even  his  enemies  esteem  him,”  said 
Mergy. 

“ Hum!  A certain  pistol-shot  was  not  quite 
to  his  credit.” 

“ He  has  proved  his  innocence;  and  besides, 
his  whole  life  is  utterly  out  of  harmony  with 
Poltrot’s  cowardly  crime.” 

“ Yet,”  said  George,  “ you  know  the  Latin 
axiom,  ‘ He  whom  it  profited  did  it.’  Without 
that  pistol-shot  Orleans  would  have  fallen.” 

“ But  after  all,  it  was  only  a man  the  less 
in  the  Catholic  army.” 

* Prince  Louis  of  Conde,  who  was  killed  at  Jarnac,  was  accused  by  the 
Catholics  of  having  designs  on  the  crown.  Admiral  Coligny’s  name  was 
Gaspard. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


71 


“ Yes,  but  what  a man!  Did  you  never  hear 
two  lines — bad  verse  enough,  but  as  good  as 
your  psalms — 

“For  so  many  Guisards  as  keep  the  dance, 

So  many  Meres  are  still  in  France.”  * 

“ Idle  threats,  and  nothing  more,”  answered 
Mergy.  “ It  would  be  a long  list  if  I were  to 
run  over  all  the  crimes  of  the  Guisards  them- 
selves.” 

“ As  for  me,  if  I were  King  of  France,  this 
is  what  I would  do  to  restore  peace.  I would 
stow  Guises  and  Chatillons  both  in  a good 
leathern  bag,  well  sewn  and  well  tied  up,  and 
I would  throw  them  into  the  sea  with  a thousand 
quintals  of  iron  for  ballast,  that  not  a soul  might 
escape.  I could  find  room  in  the  bag  for  some 
other  folk  too.” 

“It  is  lucky,  then,  that  you  are  not  King 
of  France.” 

After  this,  the  conversation  took  a livelier 
turn,  politics  and  theology  both  being  dropped: 
and  the  brothers  told  all  the  little  matters  that 
had  happened  to  them  since  they  parted.  Mergy 
frankly  told  against  himself  the  story  of  the 

* Poltrot  de  Mere, who  murdered  the  great  Duke  Francis  of  Guise  at  the 
siege  of  Orleans,  just  as  the  town  was  at  the  last  extremity.  Coligny  justi- 
fied himself,  not  too  successfully,  from  the  charge  of  having  allowed,  or 
not  prevented,  the  crime. 


72 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


Lion  d’Or;  and  his  brother,  laughing  heartily 
at  it,  joked  him  not  a little  on  the  loss  of  his 
eighteen  crowns  and  his  good  chestnut.  But 
the  bells  of  a neighbouring  church  broke  in  on 
the  talk. 

“ Parbleu!  ” said  the  captain.  “ Come  to 
church  this  evening!  I am  sure  it  will  amuse 
you.” 

“ Thank  you,  but  I feel  no  desire  to  be  con- 
verted yet.” 

“Do  come:  to-day’s  preacher  is  Brother 
Lubin,  a cordelier  who  makes  religion  such  a 
joke  that  crowds  flock  to  hear  him.  Besides, 
the  whole  Court  is  going  to  St.  Jacques  to-day: 
’tis  a sight  to  see.” 

“ And  will  Madame  de  Turgis  be  there?  and 
will  she  take  her  mask  off?  ” 

“Why,  certainly:  she  is  hound  to  be  there. 
If  you  want  to  enter  your  name  for  the  stake, 
do  not  forget  when  church  is  over  to  wait  at  the 
door  and  offer  her  holy  water.  That  is  another 
of  the  admirable  ceremonies  of  the  Catholic 
Church.  Heavens!  how  many  pretty  hands  I 
have  squeezed!  how  many  billets-doux  I have 
slipped  in,  while  giving  this  same  holy  water!” 

“ Somehow  it  is  so  disgusting  to  me,  that  I 
do  not  think  anything  in  the  world  would  induce 
me  to  dip  my  finger  in  it.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


73 


But  the  captain  interrupted  him  with  a shout 
of  laughter;  and  both,  having  cloaked  them- 
selves, made  for  the  church  of  St.  Jacques,  where 
a fair  and  numerous  company  was  already  as- 
sembled. 


CHAPTER  V 


THE  SERMON 


“With  mouth  well  open,  a fine  despatcher  of  Hours,  good  at 
driving  through  a Mass,  good  at  polishing  off  Vigils:  and  to  put 
the  whole  shortly,  a true  monk  if  ever  there  was  one  since  a monk- 


S Captain  George  and  his  brother  crossed 


the  church  to  find  a comfortable  place 


near  the  preacher,  their  attention  was 


caught  by  bursts  of  laughter  coming  from  the 
sacristy;  and  going  in  thither,  they  found  a fat 
man,  with  a cheerful  and  florid  countenance, 
clothed  in  the  gown  of  St.  Francis,  and  convers- 
ing in  a very  lively  manner  with  half-a-dozen 
splendidly  dressed  young  men. 

“ Come,  children,”  said  he,  “ be  quick.  The 
ladies  are  tired  of  waiting.  Give  me  my  text.” 
“ Talk  of  the  tricks  these  same  ladies  play 
their  husbands,”  quoth  one  of  the  young  men, 
whom  George  recognised  at  once  as  Beville. 

“ I grant  you  the  subject  is  fertile,  my  boy; 
but  what  can  I say  so  good  as  the  sermon  of  the 
Pontoise  preacher  who  cried:  ‘I  am  going  to 


ing  world  monked  its  monkery.” 


Rabelais. 


74 


A CHRONICLE 


75 


throw  my  cap  at  the  head  of  that  woman  among 
you  who  has  planted  her  husband’s  brows  thick- 
est with  horns’;  whereat  there  was  not  a wife 
in  the  church  who  did  not  shield  her  head  with 
arm  or  mantle,  as  if  to  ward  off  the  blow.” 

“ Oh,  Father  Lubin,”  said  another,  “ I only 
came  to  sermon  for  your  sake!  Prithee  give  us 
something  merry  to-day.  Talk  of  love.  It  is 
a sin  which  is  fashionable  enough  now.” 

“ Fashionable,  you  call  it?  Fashionable  for 
you  gentlemen  who  are  twenty-five;  but  I am 
well  into  my  fifties.  At  my  age  one  can  not 
talk  of  love;  and  for  my  part  I have  forgotten 
what  the  sin  means.” 

“ Don’t  make  a prim  mouth,  Father  Lubin. 
You  can  talk  about  it  just  as  well  as  ever.  We 
know  you.” 

“ Yes,”  added  Beville.  “ Preach  on  Luxury. 
The  ladies  will  all  say  that  you  are  very  full  of 
your  subject.” 

To  which  jest  the  cordelier  replied  with  a 
sly  wink,  showing  both  the  pride  and  the  pleasure 
he  felt  at  being  upbraided  with  a young  man’s 
vice. 

“No,  I will  not  preach  about  it;  because 
the  Court  dames  would  have  no  more  of  me  for 
confessor  if  I showed  myself  too  severe  on  that 
score:  and  in  conscience,  if  I spoke  at  all  on  it. 


76 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


it  would  be  to  show  how  men  risk  their  eternal 
welfare — for  what? — for  a single  minute  of 
pleasure!  ” 

“ Well  then — But  here  is  the  captain.  Come, 
George,  give  us  a text.  Father  Lubin  has 
promised  to  preach  on  the  first  subject  we  give 
him.,, 

“ Yes,”  said  the  monk.  “ But  death  of  my 
life!  be  quick.  I ought  to  be  in  the  pulpit  by 
this  time.” 

“ Why,  Father  Lubin,  you  swear  as  well  as 
the  King  could  do!  ” cried  George. 

“ I bet  he  will  not  swear  in  his  sermon,”  said 
Seville. 

“Why  not,  if  the  fancy  takes  me?”  an- 
swered Father  Lubin  boldly. 

“ I bet  ten  pistoles  that  you  will  not  dare.” 

“ Ten  pistoles? — Done!  ” 

“ I will  go  shares  with  you,  Beville,”  said 
the  captain. 

“ No,  no!  ” said  he.  “ I will  have  the  good 
father’s  money  all  to  myself:  and  if  he  swears, 
faith!  I shall  not  regret  my  own.  Oaths  from 
a preacher  are  quite  worth  ten  pistoles.” 

“ And  I tell  you  that  the  money  is  mine,” 
said  Father  Lubin.  “ I will  begin  my  sermon 
with  three  oaths.  Ah,  my  good  young  gentle- 
men, because  you  wear  sword  at  side  and  plume 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


77 


in  hat,  you  think  you  alone  know  how  to  swear. 
We  shall  see.” 

And  so  speaking  he  went  out  of  the  sacristy 
and  mounted  the  pulpit.  Forthwith  a deep  si- 
lence fell  on  the  assembly. 

The  preacher  ran  his  eyes  over  the  crowd 
that  thronged  round  the  pulpit,  as  if  to  find  out 
the  layer  of  the  bet;  and  descrying  him  leaning 
against  a pillar  immediately  in  front,  he  bent 
his  brows,  set  fist  on  hip,  and  in  the  tone  of  an 
angry  man  began  thus: 

“My  dear  brethren,  by  the  virtue!  by  the 
death!  by  the  blood! ” 

A murmur  of  indignant  surprise  interrupted 
him,  or  rather  filled  the  pause  which  he  designed- 
ly made. 

“ — of  God,”  continued  the  Franciscan,  with 
the  most  pious  twang  possible,  “ we  are  saved  and 
delivered  from  hell.” 

A roar  of  general  laughter  interrupted  him 
for  the  second  time;  and  Beville,  taking  his  purse 
from  his  girdle,  shook  it  ostentatiously  before  the 
preacher  as  an  admission  that  he  had  lost. 

“Well,  my  brethren,”  continued  the  unruf- 
fled father,  “ you  think  it  is  all  right,  do  you  not? 
‘ We  are  saved  and  delivered  from  hell.’  These 
are  comfortable  words,  think  you?  We  can  fold 
our  arms  and  take  our  ease.  We  have  got  rid 


78 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


of  those  nasty  hell-flames.  As  for  purgatory- 
fire,  it  is  only  as  it  were  a singeing  with  a taper, 
to  be  cured  by  oil  of  masses — a dozen  at  most. 
Come,  let  us  eat,  let  us  drink,  let  us  go  and 
see  Polly  and  Dolly.  This  is  how  you  reckon, 
hardened  sinners  that  you  are.  Now  I,  Brother 
Lubin — I tell  you  that  you  reckon  without  your 
host! 

“ You,  for  instance,  you  heretical  gentry, 
you  Huguenots  of  the  Huguenots,  you  think 
that  it  was  to  deliver  you  from  hell  that  our 
Saviour  deigned  to  let  Himself  be  crucified? 
F ools ! It  is  very  likely,  is  it  not,  that  He  should 
have  shed  His  precious  blood  for  rascals  like 
you?  That  would  have  been  (not  to  speak  ir- 
reverently) throwing  pearls  to  swine,  and  our 
Saviour’s  way  was  the  other — to  throw  swine  to 
pearls,  for  there  are  pearls  in  the  sea,  and  our 
Lord  threw  into  the  sea  two  thousand  swine. 
And  4 Behold,  the  whole  herd  ran  violently  down 
a steep  place  into  the  sea.’  A good  journey  to 
you,  my  masters  the  pigs!  and  may  all  heretics 
go  the  same  way!  ” 

The  speaker  coughed,  and  stopped  a minute 
to  see  and  enjoy  the  effect  of  his  eloquence  on 
the  faithful;  then  he  went  on: 

“ Therefore,  ye  Huguenots,  be  converted, 
and  be  quick  about  it,  or  else  woe  to  you.  You 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


79 


are  neither  saved  nor  delivered  from  hell,  so  show 
a clean  pair  of  heels  to  meeting,  and  cry  4 The 
mass  for  ever!  ’ 

44  But  you,  my  dear  Catholic  brethren,  you 
rub  your  hands  and  lick  your  lips,  thinking  you 
are  in  the  pleasant  suburbs  of  Paradise  already. 
To  speak  frankly,  my  brethren,  it  is  farther  from 
the  Court  where  you  dwell  to  Paradise  (even  if 
you  take  the  short  cut  across)  than  it  is  from 
Saint  Lazare  to  the  Porte  St.  Denis. 

44  4 The  virtue,  the  death,  the  blood  of  God 
have  saved  you  and  delivered  you  from  hell/ 
Yes,  I grant  you,  by  freeing  you  from  the  bur- 
den of  original  sin.  But  woe  to  you  if  Satan 
catches  you  up  again.  And  I tell  you  that  he 
goeth  about  seeking  whom  he  may  devour.  Oh, 
my  dear  brethren,  Satan  is  one  who  could  teach 
a trick  or  two  of  fence  to  Big  John,  Little  John, 
and  the  Englishman  himself ; and  I tell  you  of 
a truth,  fierce  are  the  attacks  he  makes  on  us. 

44  For  as  soon  as  we  doff  our  petticoats,  and 
are  breeched — as  soon,  I say,  as  we  are  in  case 
to  be  guilty  of  mortal  sin — Master  Satan  chal- 
lenges us  to  the  Pre-aux-Clercs  of  this  life.  Our 
arms  are  the  holy  sacraments:  as  for  him,  he  has 
a whole  arsenal  of  weapons,  to  wit,  our  sins, 
which  supply  him  with  arms  of  offence  and  de- 
fence at  once. 


80 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ I can  see  him  coming  on  the  ground : his 
cuirass  of  gluttony  on  his  body,  his  spurs  of 
idleness  at  his  heels,  the  long  sword  of  luxury  at 
his  girdle.  His  dagger  is  envy , he  wears  pride 
on  his  head  as  a man-at-arms  wears  his  morion; 
he  has  avarice  in  his  pocket  to  use  at  need;  and 
anger , with  insults,  and  all  that  follow  them,  he 
holds  in  his  mouth: — whence  it  will  be  clear  to 
you  that  he  is  literally  armed  to  the  teeth. 

“ When  God  has  given  the  word,  Satan  does 
not,  like  our  punctilious  duellists,  say,  4 Sir,  are 
you  ready?  ’ but  plunges  headlong  on  the  Chris- 
tian without  crying,  ‘’Ware!’  But  the  Chris- 
tian, seeing  that  he  is  going  to  receive  a thrust 
from  gluttony  in  the  belly,  parries  with  fasting” 

Here  the  preacher,  to  make  his  discourse 
clearer,  took  a crucifix,  and  began  to  fence  with 
it,  lunging  and  parrying  exactly  as  a fencing- 
master  would  use  a foil  to  illustrate  a difficult 
stroke. 

“ Satan,  in  the  very  act  of  recovery,  puts  in 
a cut  of  anger,  and  then,  feinting  with  hypocrisy , 
thrusts  in  quart  with  pride . The  Christian  first 
protects  himself  with  patience,  and  then  replies 
to  pride  with  a lunge  from  humility . Satan, 
angry  at  this,  tries  at  once  a resolute  stoccata 
with  luxury,  but  perceiving  it  to  be  parried  with 
mortification,  he  throws  himself  recklessly  on  his 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


81 


foe,  trying  to  trip  up  his  heels  with  idleness , and 
at  the  same  time  aiming  a dagger  blow  of  envy 
at  him,  while  he  tries  to  slip  avarice  into  his  heart. 
Then  is  there  need  of  a firm  foot  and  a quick 
eye.  With  labour  the  trick  of  idleness  is  foiled; 
the  dagger  of  envy  is  blunted  by  love-of-our- 
neighbour  (not  an  easy  parry,  my  friends)  ; and 
as  for  the  privy  thrust  of  avarice,  nothing  but 
charity  can  ward  off  that. 

“ But,  my  brethren,  how  many  of  you  are 
there  who,  when  attacked  thus  in  tierce  and  in 
quart,  with  cut  and  with  thrust,  would  be  ever 
ready  with  a parry  for  every  pass  of  the  Enemy? 
Many  a champion  have  I seen  beat  to  the 
ground:  and  then,  if  he  has  not  swift  recourse 
to  contrition , he  is  a lost  man;  and  you  can  not 
be  too  quick  in  using  this  last  resort.  You  think, 
you  courtiers,  that  Peccavi  is  a short  word  to 
say.  Alas!  my  brethren,  how  many  poor  dying 
sinners  try  to  say  it  and  their  voice  fails  them 
at  the  Pec!  And  then,  presto!  there  is  a soul 
carried  off  by  the  devil ! Fetch  it  back  who  can.” 

Brother  Lubin  continued  his  eloquent  ha- 
rangue for  some  considerable  time ; and  when  he 
came  down  the  pulpit  steps  a connoisseur  in 
style  observed,  that  though  he  had  preached  bare- 
ly an  hour,  his  discourse  made  thirty-seven  dis- 
tinct points,  besides  flashes  of  wit  (such  as  those 


82 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


I have  quoted)  which  no  man  could  number. 
Catholics  and  Protestants  joined  in  applaud- 
ing the  preacher,  who  was  long  detained  at 
the  foot  of  the  pulpit  by  an  eager  crowd  press- 
ing from  all  parts  of  the  church  to  congratulate 
him. 

During  the  sermon  Mergy  had  several  times 
asked  where  Madame  de  Turgis  was;  and  his 
brother  had  looked  for  her  in  vain.  Either  the 
fair  countess  was  not  in  church,  or  she  had  hid- 
den herself  from  admiration  in  some  dark  cor- 
ner. 

“ I wish,”  said  Mergy  as  he  went  out,  “ that 
all  who  were  present  at  this  absurd  sermon  could 
this  moment  hear  one  of  the  simple  exhortations 
of  our  ministers.” 

“ There  she  is!  ” said  the  captain,  whispering 
and  pressing  his  arm. 

Mergy  turned  his  head,  and  saw,  passing  like 
lightning  through  the  dark  doorway,  a lady  mag- 
nificently dressed,  and  conducted  by  a young 
man  of  fair  complexion  and  small  stature,  slight 
in  figure,  effeminate  in  air,  and  dressed  with 
probably  studied  carelessness.  The  crowd  made 
way  for  them  with  a readiness  that  savoured 
of  alarm;  for  the  cavalier  was  the  redoubted 
Comminges. 

Mergy  had  scarce  time  to  glance  at  the 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


83 


countess.  He  could  not  even  distinctly  see  her 
features,  though  they  made  a great  impression 
on  him  as  a whole.  But  to  Comminges  he  had 
taken  a mortal  dislike,  though  at  the  same  time 
without  quite  knowing  why.  He  was  indignant 
at  seeing  such  an  insignificant  appearance 
coupled  with  such  a reputation.  “If  the  coun- 
tess,” he  thought,  “ loved  any  one  in  this  crowd, 
that  monster  Comminges  would  kill  him.  He 
has  sworn  to  kill  all  whom  she  loves,”  and  he 
grasped  the  hilt  of  his  sword  with  an  involuntary 
and  excited  movement  of  which  he  was  at  once 
ashamed.  “ What  does  it  matter  to  me,  after 
all?  I have  hardly  seen  his  conquest,  and  do  not 
grudge  her  to  him.”  But  his  thoughts  had  left 
a disagreeable  impression,  and  he  did  not  speak 
from  the  church  to  the  captain’s  house. 

They  found  supper  on  table;  but  Mergy  ate 
little,  and  as  soon  as  the  cloth  was  removed  ex- 
pressed a wish  to  return  to  his  inn.  The  captain 
made  no  objection  to  his  going,  on  condition  that 
he  would  next  day  come  and  take  up  his  quarters 
definitely. 

We  need  not  say  that  Mergy  was  supplied 
by  his  brother  with  money,  a horse,  and  so  forth; 
together  with  the  address  of  the  court  tailor,  and 
of  the  only  shop  where  a gentleman  who  was 
anxious  to  stand  well  with  the  ladies  could  buy 


84 


A CHRONICLE 


his  gloves,  his  ruffs  a la  confusion , and  his  shoes 
a cric  or  a pont-levis. 

At  last,  darkness  having  set  in,  he  returned 
to  his  inn,  accompanied  by  two  of  his  brother’s 
serving-men  well  armed  with  sword  and  pistol; 
for  the  streets  of  Paris  after  eight  o’clock  were 
more  dangerous  then  than  the  road  from  Seville 
to  Granada  is  now. 


CHAPTER  YI 


A PARTY  LEADER 

“Jockey  of  Norfolk,  be  not  too  bold! 

For  Dickon  thy  master  is  bought  and  sold.” 

Shakespeare,  King  Richard  III. 


WHEN  Bernard  de  Mergy  returned  to 
his  modest  hostelry  he  glanced  in  a 
melancholy  manner  at  the  worn  and 
tarnished  furniture.  As  he  silently  compared 
the  walls,  once  whitewashed,  now  blackened  with 
smoke,  to  the  bright  silken  tapestries  of  the  lodg- 
ing he  had  just  quitted — as  he  remembered  the 
beautiful  painting  of  the  Madonna,  and  saw 
nothing  on  his  own  walls  but  an  old  image  of 
a saint,  a base  enough  thought  entered  his  mind. 
All  that  luxury,  all  that  elegance,  the  good  graces 
of  ladies,  the  King’s  favour — all  these  desirable 
things  had  cost  George  but  a word,  a single 
word,  easy  enough  to  pronounce,  for  it  had  to 
come  from  the  lips  only,  and  no  question  was 
asked  about  the  heart.  At  the  same  time,  there 
occurred  to  him  the  names  of  divers  Protestants 
who,  by  abjuration,  had  raised  themselves  to 

85 


86 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


the  highest  honours;  and  as  the  devil  makes 
strings  to  his  bow  out  of  anything,  the  parable 
of  the  Prodigal  Son  also  suggested  itself,  but 
with  this  moral,  foreign  to  the  original,  that 
there  would  be  more  joy  over  a converted 
Huguenot  than  over  a consistent  Catholic. 

These  thoughts,  which  occurred  in  divers 
shapes,  and  as  it  were  independently  of  his  will, 
haunted  him  constantly,  despite  his  disgust  at 
them.  He  took  a Geneva  Bible  which  had  be- 
longed to  his  mother,  and  read  it  for  some  time, 
until,  calmed  at  length,  he  laid  the  book  down, 
and,  before  he  closed  his  eyes,  swore  to  himself  to 
live  and  die  in  the  faith  of  his  fathers. 

Yet  notwithstanding  his  reading  and  his 
oath,  his  dreams  showed  the  impress  of  the  day’s 
adventures.  He  had  visions  of  curtains  of  pur- 
ple silk,  of  golden  plate:  and  then  suddenly  the 
tables  were  upset,  swords  flashed,  and  blood 
mingled  with  the  wine.  Again,  the  painted 
Madonna  became  alive;  she  left  her  frame  and 
danced  before  him.  He  tried  to  register  her 
features  in  his  memory;  and  only  then  noticed 
that  she  was  masked  in  black.  But  ah ! the  dark 
blue  eyes  and  the  glimpse  of  white  skin  that 
shone  through  the  opening  of  the  mask!  Next, 
the  mask-strings  fell,  and  a face  appeared — a 
face  of  heavenly  beauty,  but  still  without  clearly 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


87 


distinguishable  traits,  like  the  reflection  of  a 
nymph  in  troubled  water.  Against  his  will  his 
eyes  drooped;  but  he  raised  them  quickly,  and 
had  before  him  only  the  redoubtable  Comminges, 
a bloody  sword  in  his  hand. 

He  rose  early,  caused  his  slender  baggage  to 
be  carried  to  his  brother’s  house,  and,  declining 
George’s  offer  to  show  him  the  sights  of  the 
town,  went  by  himself  to  the  Hotel  de  Chatillon 
to  present  to  the  Admiral  the  letters  with  which 
his  father  had  charged  him. 

He  found  the  courtyard  of  the  hotel  thronged 
with  servants  and  horses,  and  had  some  trouble 
in  making  his  way  through  these  to  a large  ante- 
room filled  with  squires  and  pages,  who,  though 
only  armed  with  their  swords,  made  up  an  im- 
posing body-guard  around  the  Admiral.  An 
usher  in  black  garments,  after  a glance  at 
Mergy’s  lace  collar  and  at  a gold  chain  which 
his  brother  had  lent  him,  made  no  difficulty  in 
admitting  him  at  once  to  the  gallery  where  his 
master  was. 

The  Admiral  was  surrounded  by  nobles,  gen- 
tlemen, and  ministers  of  the  gospel,  to  the  num- 
ber of  more  than  forty — all  standing  with  un- 
covered head  and  respectful  attitude.  He  was 
very  simply  dressed  in  a complete  suit  of  black. 
His  stature  was  lofty,  but  slightly  bowed,  and 


88 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


his  bald  forehead  was  wrinkled  rather  by  the 
toils  of  war  than  by  years.  A long  white  beard 
fell  upon  his  breast.  His  cheeks,  naturally  hol- 
low, appeared  even  more  so,  thanks  to  a wound, 
the  deep  scar  of  which  was  hardly  hidden  by 
his  long  moustache;  for  a pistol-ball  at  Mont- 
contour  had  pierced  his  cheek  and  broken  several 
teeth.  His  countenance  was  sad  rather  than 
severe,  and  men  said  that  since  the  brave  Dande- 
lot’s  * death  none  had  seen  him  smile.  He  stood 
with  his  hand  resting  on  a table  covered  with 
maps  and  plans,  among  which  towered  a huge 
quarto  Bible;  while  toothpicks  scattered  among 
the  charts  and  papers  bore  witness  to  a habit 
which  was  often  made  the  subject  of  jest.  A 
secretary,  seated  at  one  end  of  the  table,  seemed 
hard  at  work  writing  letters,  which  he  afterwards 
presented  to  the  Admiral  for  signature. 

At  the  sight  of  the  great  man,  who,  in  the  eyes 
of  his  co-religionists,  was  more  than  a king — 
uniting  in  his  own  person  both  hero  and  saint — 
Mergy  felt  so  much  veneration,  that  in  present- 
ing himself  he,  without  intending  it,  bent  one 
knee  to  the  ground.  The  Admiral,  surprised 
and  vexed  at  this  unusual  mark  of  respect,  signed 
to  him  to  rise,  and  took  the  letter  which  the 
young  enthusiast  held  out  with  a slight  touch 


* His  brother. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


89 


of  impatience.  Then,  glancing  at  the  arms  on 
the  seal,  “ It  is,”  he  said,  “ from  my  old  com- 
rade, the  Baron  de  Mergy ; and  you,  young  man, 
are  so  like  him,  that  you  must  be  his  son.” 

“ Sir,  my  father  would  gladly,  had  his  great 
age  permitted,  have  made  the  journey  himself 
to  pay  his  respects  to  you.” 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  Coligny,  turning  to  those 
about  him  after  he  had  read  the  letter,  “ I pre- 
sent to  you  the  son  of  the  Baron  de  Mergy,  who 
has  come  two  hundred  leagues  and  more  to  join 
us.  We  shall  have  no  lack,  it  seems,  of  volunteers 
for  Flanders.  Gentlemen,  I ask  your  friendship 
for  the  son;  you  already  know  the  high  worth 
of  the  father.” 

And  Mergy  at  once  received  a score  of  em- 
braces and  offers  of  assistance.  “Are  you  a 
soldier  already,  my  friend  Bernard?  ” asked  the 
Admiral:  “ have  you  ever  heard  a shot  fired?  ” 
Mergy  blushed  as  he  answered  that  he  had 
not  yet  had  the  good  luck  to  fight  for  the  re- 
ligion. 

“ Congratulate  yourself  rather,  young  man,” 
said  Coligny  gravely,  “ that  you  have  not  yet 
been  obliged  to  shed  your  countrymen’s  blood. 
Thank  God!”  he  added  sighing,  “civil  war  is 
over,  the  religion  has  a breathing  time,  and  you, 
happier  than  we  were,  will  only  draw  sword 


90 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


against  the  foes  of  your  king  and  country.” 
Then,  putting  his  hand  on  the  young  man’s 
shoulder,  “ I am  sure,”  said  he,  “ you  will  not 
belie  the  race  from  which  you  spring.  As  your 
father  wishes,  you  shall  serve  first  among  my 
gentlemen;  and  when  we  meet  the  Spaniards, 
capture  one  of  their  standards,  and  you 
shall  have  a cornetcy  in  my  regiment  on  the 
spot.” 

“ Then  I swear,”  cried  Mergy  resolvedly, 
“ that  at  the  first  action  I will  be  a cornet  or  my 
father  shall  lose  a son.” 

“ Well  said,  brave  boy!  You  speak  like  your 
father;”  and  he  called  his  steward.  “ This,”  he 
said,  “ is  my  steward,  Master  Samuel.  If  you 
want  money  for  outfit,  talk  to  him.” 

The  steward  bowed  to  Mergy,  who  quickly 
returned  his  thanks,  but  declined  the  kindness. 
“ My  father  and  my  brother,”  he  said,  “ have 
supplied  my  wants  amply.” 

“ Your  brother?  Is  that  Captain  George 
Mergy,  who,  at  the  first  war,  abjured  his  faith?  ” 
Mergy  dropped  his  head  sadly;  and  though 
his  lips  moved  his  reply  was  inaudible. 

“ ’Tis  a brave  soldier,”  went  on  the  Admiral; 
“ but  what  is  courage  without  the  fear  of  God? 
Young  man,  you  have  in  your  family  an  example 
to  shun  as  well  as  a pattern  to  follow.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


91 


“ I will  try  to  imitate  my  brother’s  brave 
deeds,  and  not  his  perversion.” 

“ Well  then,  Bernard,  come  and  see  me  often, 
and  count  on  me  as  your  friend.  The  city  you 
are  in  is  no  good  school  of  morals ; but  I hope  to 
carry  you  soon  where  there  will  be  glory  to  earn.” 
Mergy  bowed  respectfully,  and  fell  back  into 
the  circle  which  surrounded  the  Admiral. 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  Coligny,  resuming  the 
conversation  which  Mergy’s  entrance  had  inter- 
rupted, “ I hear  good  news  from  all  sides.  The 
assassins  at  Rouen  have  been  punished.” 

“ But  not  those  at  Toulouse,”  said  an  old 
minister  of  gloomy  and  fanatic  aspect. 

“You  mistake,  sir;  I have  just  heard  the 
news  of  their  punishment.  Moreover,  the  mixed 
commission  * is  already  appointed  at  Toulouse. 
Every  day  his  majesty  gives  proof  that  his 
justice  is  equal  for  all.” 

The  old  minister  shook  his  head  doubtingly, 
and  another  greybeard,  clothed  in  black  velvet, 
cried,  “His  justice  is  equal!  Yes:  Charles  and 
his  worthy  mother  would  like  to  strike  all  down — 
Chatillons,  Montmorencys  and  Guises  all  to- 
gether— with  a single  blow.” 

* By  the  treaty  which  ended  the  third  civil  war,  chambers  of  justice  had 
been  established  in  several  provincial  parliaments,  half  of  whose  members 
professed  Protestantism.  These  chambers  were  to  try  causes  between 
Protestants  and  Catholics. 


92 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ Speak  more  respectfully  of  your  King,  M. 
de  Bonissan,,,  said  Coligny  sternly.  “ Let  us, 
I pray  you,  at  last  forget  our  old  grudges.  Give 
none  cause  to  say  that  the  Catholics  practise  bet- 
ter than  we  do  the  divine  precept  of  forgetful- 
ness of  injuries.” 

“By  the  bones  of  my  father!”  muttered 
Bonissan,  “ they  have  the  easier  task!  My  mem- 
ory does  not  so  easily  let  slip  twenty-three 
martyrs  of  my  kin.” 

He  was  speaking  thus  bitterly  when  an  old 
and  broken-looking  man,  of  repulsive  aspect, 
wrapped  in  a worn  grey  mantle,  entered  the 
gallery,  threaded  the  press,  and  gave  a sealed 
paper  to  Coligny.  j 

“ Who  are  you?  ” said  the  Admiral,  without 
breaking  the  seal. 

“A  friend,”  replied  the  old  man  hoarsely; 
and  he  left  the  room  at  once. 

“ I saw  that  man  come  out  of  the  Hotel 
de  Guise  this  very  morning,”  said  one  gentle- 
man. 

“ He  is  a wizard,”  said  another. 

“ A poisoner,”  cried  a third. 

“ The  Duke  of  Guise  has  sent  him  to  poison 
the  Admiral.” 

“ To  poison  me?  ” cried  Coligny  shrugging 
his  shoulders.  “ To  poison  me  in  a letter!  ” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


93 


“ Have  you  forgotten  the  Queen  of  Na- 
varre’s gloves?”  * cried  Bonissan. 

“ I no  more  believe  in  the  poisoned  gloves 
than  in  the  poisoned  letter;  but  I do  believe  that 
the  Duke  of  Guise  is  incapable  of  such  baseness.” 

He  was  about  to  open  the  letter,  when  Bonis- 
san flung  himself  upon  him,  and  seized  his 
hands,  crying — 

“ Do  not  unseal  it,  or  you  will  inhale  some 
mortal  odour.” 

All  the  company  crowded  round  the  Ad- 
miral, who  strove  to  get  rid  of  Bonissan. 

“ I see  a black  vapour  arising  from  the  let- 
ter!” cried  one.  And  the  general  cry  was, 
“ Throw  it  away!  ” 

“ Unhand  me,  madmen!”  said  the  Admiral 
struggling;  and  as  they  wrestled  with  him  the 
paper  fell  on  the  floor. 

“ Samuel,  my  good  fellow,”  cried  Bonissan, 
“ show  yourself  a faithful  servant.  Open  the 
packet,  and  do  not  give  it  to  your  master  till 
you  are  sure  that  there  is  nothing  wrong  with  it.” 

The  commission  did  not  seem  to  be  to  the 
steward’s  taste;  but  Mergy,  without  hesitating, 
picked  up  the  letter  and  broke  the  seal.  The 

* “ Her  death,”  says  D’Aubigne,“  was  caused  by  poison,  communicated 
to  the  brain  by  perfumed  gloves  of  the  manufacture  of  Messer  Rene  the 
Florentine,  a wretch  since  execrated  even  by  the  Queen’s  enemies.” — 
Hist.  Univ.y  H.  ii. 


94 


A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


circle  at  once  fell  widely  away  from  him,  each 
man  retiring  as  if  a mine  were  about  to  be  sprung 
in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Yet  no  evil  vapour 
came  forth,  and  no  one  even  sneezed.  Some 
rather  dirty  paper,  with  a few  lines  of  writing 
on  it,  formed  the  sole  contents  of  the  terrible 
packet.  And  the  same  individuals  who  had  been 
the  first  to  retire  were  also  the  first  to  come  for- 
ward with  smiling  faces  as  soon  as  all  appear- 
ance of  danger  had  vanished. 

“ What  means  this  insolence?  ” cried  Coligny 
angrily,  as  he  freed  himself  at  length  from  Bo- 
nissan’s  grasp.  “ Open  a letter  addressed  to 
me!” 

“ My  Lord  Admiral,  if  it  had  happened  that 
this  letter  contained  any  poison  subtle  enough  to 
kill  by  inhalation,  it  were  better  that  a youth 
like  myself  fell  victim,  than  you  whose  life  is 
so  precious  to  the  religion.” 

A murmur  of  admiration  rose  around  him. 
Coligny  pressed  his  hand  with  much  feeling, 
and  after  a moment’s  silence  said  kindly — 

“ As  you  have  done  the  deed  of  unsealing 
this  letter,  read  us  the  contents.” 

Mergy  at  once  read  as  follows: 

“ The  western  sky  glows  with  bloody  light. 
Stars  have  fallen  from  the  firmament,  and  flam- 
ing swords  have  been  seen  in  the  air.  All  but 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX 


95 


blind  men  must  perceive  what  these  things  por- 
tend. Gaspard!  buckle  on  sword  and  spur,  or 
in  a few  days’  time  the  gleds  shall  glut  them- 
selves with  thy  flesh.” 

“ By  the  ‘ gleds  ’ he  means  the  Guises!  ” said 
Bonissan.  “ G.  for  G.”  * 

The  Admiral  raised  his  shoulders  disdain- 
fully, and  no  one  spoke;  but  it  was  clear  that 
the  prophecy  had  made  a certain  impression  on 
the  company. 

“ There  be  many  folk,”  said  Coligny  coolly, 
“ at  Paris  who  busy  themselves  with  folly.  Do 
not  men  say  that  there  are  some  ten  thousand 
rascals  here  who  live  by  fortune-telling?  ” 

“ The  warning,  such  as  it  is,  is  not  to  be 
despised,”  said  a captain  of  infantry.  “ The 
Duke  of  Guise  has  said  openly  enough  that  he 
shall  never  sleep  sound  till  he  has  passed  his 
sword  through  your  body.” 

“ It  is  so  easy,”  added  Bonissan,  “ for  an 
assassin  to  obtain  admission  to  you!  Were  I 
in  your  place,  I would  never  go  to  the  Louvre 
without  a corslet  on.” 

“ Go  to,  comrade,”  said  the  Admiral.  “ It 

* [It  was  necessary  to  be  unfaithful  here,  the  play  on  geai  (“jay,”  not 
exactly  “ gled  ” or  “kite,”)  and  the  letter  g as  pronounced  in  French,  being 
unmanageable  in  English.  I have  therefore  changed  the  bird,  and  para- 
phrased Bonissan’s  “ le  nom  d’un  oiseau  est  mis  la  au  lieu  de  la  lettre  qui 
se  prononce  de  meme.”] — Translator's  note. 


96 


A CHRONICLE 


is  not  with  old  soldiers  like  us  that  assassins  med- 
dle: they  fear  us  more  than  we  fear  them.” 

He  talked  for  some  time  longer  about  the 
Flanders  campaign  and  the  affairs  of  the  re- 
ligion. Divers  persons  brought  him  petitions  to 
present  to  the  King,  and  he  received  them  all 
kindly,  addressing  some  affable  remark  to  each 
suitor.  At  length,  as  ten  o’clock  struck,  he  called 
for  his  hat  and  gloves,  to  go  to  the  Louvre,  and 
some  of  the  company  took  leave ; but  the  greater 
number  went  with  him,  to  serve  at  once  as  suite 
and  escort. 


CHAPTER  VII 


THE  captain  had  no  sooner  caught  sight 
of  his  brother  than  he  cried  out — 

“ Well,  hav£  you  seen  Gaspard  the 
First?  How  did  he  receive  you?  ” 

“With  kindness  that  I shall  never  forget.” 
“ I am  very  glad  of  it.” 

“ Oh,  George,  what  a man!  ” 

“ What  a man?  I take  it  he  is  a man  much 
like  the  rest  of  us;  with,  let  us  say,  a little  more 
ambition  and  a little  more  faculty  of  endurance 
than  my  footman,  not  to  mention  the  difference 
of  their  origin.  M.  de  Chatillon’s  birth  has  done 
something  for  him.” 

“Did  his  birth  teach  him  the  art  of  war  or 
make  him  the  first  captain  of  our  time?  ” 

“ Why  no : though  his  proficiency  in  that  re- 
spect has  not  saved  him  from  being  always 
beaten.  Rut  there,  let  us  talk  of  something  else. 
You  have  seen  the  Admiral  to-day:  ’tis  very  well, 
Give  every  man  his  due  of  honour:  and  you 
had  to  begin  by  paying  your  respects  to  M.  de 
Chatillon.  Now,  will  you  come  and  hunt  to-mor- 
row? If  you  will,  I will  introduce  you  there  to 

97 


98 


A CHRONICLE 


some  one  who  is  also  worth  knowing;  that  is  to 
say,  Charles,  King  of  France.” 

“What!  You  wish  me  to  go  to  the  royal 
hunt? ” 

“I  do:  and  you  shall  there  see  the  prettiest 
ladies  as  well  as  the  finest  horses  of  the  Court. 
The  meet  is  at  the  Chateau  de  Madrid,  and  we 
must  be  there  early  to-morrow  morning.  I will 
give  you  my  dapple  grey,  and  I warrant  you 
there  will  be  no  need  of  spurring  to  keep  up 
with  the  hounds.” 

At  this  moment  a lackey  gave  Mergy  a let- 
ter which  one  of  the  King’s  pages  had  just 
brought.  Mergy  opened  it,  and  his  brother’s 
surprise  equalled  his  own  when  they  found  en- 
closed a cornet’s  commission,  drawn  up  in  regular 
form,  and  with  the  King’s  seal  attached. 

“Plague  take  us!”  said  George;  “here  is 
a prompt  mark  of  favour!  But  why  the  devil 
does  Charles  IX.,  who  is  not  aware  of  your  ex- 
istence, send  you  a cornet’s  commission?  ” 

“ I think,”  said  Mergy,  “ that  I owe  it  to 
the  Admiral.”  And  he  told  his  brother  the  story 
of  the  mysterious  letter  in  opening  which  he  had 
shown  so  much  courage.  The  captain  laughed 
consumedly  at  the  end  of  the  adventure,  and 
rallied  him  on  it  without  mercy. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


A CONVERSATION  BETWEEN  THE  READER  AND  THE 
AUTHOR 

“ A H ! Mr.  Author,  what  an  opportunity 
r~\  have  you  here  of  drawing  portraits — 
and  such  portraits!  You  are  going 
to  take  us  to  the  Chateau  de  Madrid,  in  the  midst 
of  the  Court — and  such  a Court!  Will  you  ex- 
hibit it  thoroughly  to  us,  French-Italian  as  it 
was?  Will  you  pass  all  its  notables,  one  after  the 
other,  before  us?  How  much  we  shall  learn,  and 
how  interesting  a day  spent  among  so  many 
great  personages  will  be ! ” 

“Alas!  master  reader,  what  is  this  that  you 
ask?  I wish  I had  the  talent  for  writing  a history 
of  France:  in  that  case  I should  not  spend  my 
time  in  writing  romances.  But  tell  me  why  you 
wish  me  to  introduce  you  to  people  who  have  no 
part  to  play  in  my  story?  ” 

“ But  it  is  a shame  of  you  not  to  make  them 
play  a part  in  it!  You  drag  me  off  to  the  year 
1572,  and  then  you  want  to  sneak  out  of  giving 
the  portraits  of  all  these  great  men.  Come, 

99 


100  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


come,  no  shilly-shallying;  begin  at  once.  I will 
tell  you  how:  ‘ The  door  of  the  withdrawing 

room  opened , and  there  appeared ’ ” 

“ But,  good  reader,  there  were  no  withdraw- 
ing rooms  at  the  Chateau  de  Madrid.  Salons 
only  began ” 

“Well,  well — then:  ‘ The  great  hall  was 
crowded,  and  among  others  might  have  been  per - 
ceived ’ ” 

“ Perhaps  you  will  be  good  enough  to  say 
who?  ” 

“ Why,  of  course,  Charles  IX.  in  the  first 
place.” 

“ And  in  the  second?  ” 

“ Soft:  not  so  fast.  Tell  me  first  what  the 
King  wore;  then  sketch  his  person,  and  then 
his  character.  That  is  the  regular  path  that 
every  novelist  has  to  trace  nowadays.” 

“ What  he  wore?  It  was  a hunting  dress, 
with  a great  horn  slung  round  his  neck.” 

“ You  are  laconic.” 

“As  for  his  looks,  let  us  see it  would  be 

much  better  for  you  to  go  and  see  his  bust  at  the 
Angouleme  Museum,  Room  2,  Number  98.” 

“But,  good  Mr.  Author,  I live  in  the  country 
and  would  you  make  me  come  to  Paris  on  pur- 
pose to  see  a bust  of  Charles  IX.?  ” 

“ Well  then,  imagine  a young  man  fairly  well 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  101 


made,  but  with  his  head  set  somewhat  deep  be- 
tween his  shoulders.  His  neck  is  stretched  out 
and  his  forehead  leans  forward  in  an  awkward 
fashion;  his  nose  is  rather  thick,  his  lips  are  thin 
and  long,  and  the  upper  one  protrudes ; his  com- 
plexion is  pale,  and  his  large  greenish  eyes  never 
look  his  interlocutor  in  the  face.  But  you  will 
not  see  ‘ Saint  Bartholomew,’  or  anything  like 
it,  written  in  his  glance.  Far  from  it:  his  ex- 
pression is  only  rather  stupid  and  wistful,  not 
harsh  or  ferocious.  You  may  picture  it  well 
enough  by  fancying  a young  Englishman  who 
makes  his  appearance  in  a large  drawing-room 
where  every  one  is  sitting  down.  He  walks 
through  a double  row  of  well-dressed  women, 
who  are  silent  as  he  passes;  he  entangles  himself 
with  the  dress  of  one,  jostles  another’s  chair, 
and  has  the  umost  difficulty  in  reaching  the  lady 
of  the  house.  Then,  and  not  till  then,  he  sees 
that  in  getting  out  of  his  carriage  he  has  mud- 
died the  sleeve  of  his  coat  against  the  wheel. 
You  must  have  seen  faces  aghast  in  this  fashion; 
perhaps,  indeed,  you  may  have  seen  your  own 
reflected  in  some  mirror  before  the  habit  of  going 
into  society  made  you  indifferent  to  the  effect 

of  your  entrance ” 

“ And  Catherine  de  Medicis?  ” 

“ Catherine  de  Medicis ! Deuce  take  me  if 


102  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


I had  so  much  as  thought  of  her.  I think  I 
shall  never  have  to  mention  her  name  again ; but 
if  you  must  know,  she  was  a stout  woman,  well 
enough  preserved,  as  the  saying  is,  with  a thick 
nose,  and  lips  pinched  like  those  of  a person  who 
feels  the  first  approach  of  sea-sickness.  Her 
eyes  are  half  shut,  she  is  constantly  yawning, 
and  her  voice  takes  the  same  tone  whether  it 
says,  ‘ Who  will  rid  me  of  that  hateful  Bearnese 
woman?  ’ or  ‘ Madeleine,  give  my  Naples  lap- 
dog  some  sugared  cream.’  ” 

“ Good : but  please  put  something  more  note- 
worthy in  her  mouth.  She  has  just  (so  they  say) 
had  Jeanne  d’Albret  poisoned,  and  there  ought 
to  be  some  sign  of  that.” 

“Not  at  all;  for  if  any  signs  showed,  what 
would  become  of  her  famous  power  of  dissimula- 
tion? Besides,  if  my  information  is  correct, 
she  talked  of  nothing  but  the  weather  all  that 
day.” 

“And  Henry  IV.?  and  Marguerite  of 
Navarre?  Show  us  Henry,  the  brave,  gallant, 
kind  Henry;  show  us  Marguerite  slipping  a bil- 
let into  a page’s  hand,  while  her  husband,  for 
his  part,  squeezes  a maid  of  honour’s  fingers.” 

“ As  for  Henry,  no  one  could  guess  in  that 
young  featherhead  the  future  hero  and  King 
of  France.  He  has  forgotten  his  mother,  but  a 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  103 


fortnight  dead;  and  is  talking  to  nobody  but  a 
pricker,  with  whom  he  holds  endless  converse 
about  the  slot  of  the  stag  who  is  about  to  be 
started.  I will  spare  you  that,  especially  as  I 
hope  you  are  no  sportsman.” 

“ And  Marguerite?  ” 

“ She  was  not  well  that  day,  and  kept  her 
room.” 

“A  neat  way  of  getting  rid  of  her!  But 
the  Duke  of  Anjou,  and  Conde,  and  Guise,  and 
Tavannes,  Retz,  La  Rochefoucauld,  Teligny, 
Thore,  Meru,  and  all  the  rest?  ” 

“ You  seem  to  know  more  about  them  than  I 
do.  I am  going  to  talk  about  my  friend  Mergy.” 
“ Sir,  I am  sorry  to  perceive  that  I shall  not 
find  what  I sought  in  this  story  of  yours.” 

“Really,  I am  very  much  afraid  you  will 
not.” 


CHAPTER  IX 


THE  GLOVE 

“There  fell  a slipper  [glove]  from  the  right  hand  of  my  Lady 
Blanche  (from  the  left  it  had  been  of  no  consequence),  and  made 
Love  let  fly  his  shaft  at  the  hidalgos.” — Lope  de  Vega,  El  guante 
de  Doha  Blanca. 

THE  Court  was  at  the  Chateau  de  Madrid, 
and  the  Queen-Mother,  surrounded  by 
her  ladies,  was  in  her  chamber,  ex- 
pecting the  King  to  come  and  breakfast  with 
her  before  getting  in  the  saddle.  The  King  him- 
self, followed  by  the  princes,  was  slowly  crossing 
a gallery  where  all  the  gentlemen  who  were  about 
to  follow  the  hunt  were  assembled.  He  listened 
with  an  inattentive  air  to  the  speeches  which  his 
courtiers  made  to  him,  frequently  answering  with 
abruptness.  As  he  passed  before  the  two 
brothers  the  captain  bent  one  knee  and  presented 
the  new  cornet.  Mergy,  with  a profound  bow, 
thanked  his  majesty  for  the  honour  which  he 
had  received  before  doing  anything  to  deserve 
it. 

“Ah!  you  are  he  of  whom  my  father,  the 

104 


A CHRONICLE 


105 


Admiral  spoke.  You  are  Captain  George’s 
brother?  ” 

“ Yes,  sire.” 

“ Are  you  Catholic  or  Huguenot?  ” 

“ I am  a Protestant,  sire.” 

“ I but  asked  you  for  curiosity’s  sake.  The 
devil  take  me  if  I care  of  what  religion 
those  are  who  serve  me  well.”  With  which 
notable  words  the  King  turned  into  the  Queen’s 
apartments. 

A few  moments  afterwards  a bevy  of  ladies 
spread  themselves  about  the  gallery,  seemingly 
sent  to  make  the  time  appear  less  long  to  the  in- 
tending riders.  I shall  mention  but  a single 
beauty  in  a Court  fertile  in  beauties — the  Coun- 
tess de  Turgis,  who  plays  a great  part  in  this 
story.  She  wore  a riding-habit  of  a dashing  and 
elegant  fashion,  and  had  not  yet  put  on  her 
mask.  Her  complexion,  of  dazzling  whiteness, 
but  tinged  by  no  colour  anywhere,  set  off  her 
jet-black  hair;  and  her  arched  eyebrows,  just 
meeting  in  the  midst,  gave  to  her  expression  an 
air  of  hardness,  or  rather  of  pride,  without  de- 
stroying the  attraction  of  her  features  as  a 
whole.  The  first  impression  that  her  large  blue 
eyes  gave  was  one  of  haughty  disdain;  but  when 
she  talked  with  interest  the  pupils  were  soon  seen 
to  dilate  like  a cat’s,  her  glance  lighted  up,  and 


108  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


it  was  difficult  even  for  a hardened  coxcomb  to 
resist  their  fascination  for  any  length  of  time. 

“Look  at  the  Countess  de  Turgis!  How 
beautiful  she  is  to-day!  ” the  courtiers  muttered 
to  each  other,  pressing  forward  to  see  her  better. 
Mergy,  who  happened  to  be  full  in  her  path, 
was  so  struck  with  her  beauty  that  he  remained 
motionless,  and  had  no  thought  of  making  way 
for  her  till  the  countess’s  wide  silken  sleeves 
touched  his  doublet. 

She  noticed  his  emotion,  perhaps  with  pleas- 
ure, and  deigned  for  a moment  to  fix  her  lovely 
eyes  on  his,  which  fell  at  once,  while  his  cheeks 
reddened  deeply.  The  countess  smiled,  and  as 
she  passed,  she  dropped  one  of  her  gloves  in 
front  of  our  hero,  who,  still  entranced  and  mo- 
tionless, never  thought  of  picking  it  up.  Im- 
mediately a fair  young  man  (none  other  than 
Comminges) , who  happened  to  be  behind  Mergy, 
pushed  rudely  past  him  to  seize  the  glove,  which, 
after  kissing  it  devoutly,  he  returned  to  Madame 
de  Turgis.  She  did  not  thank  him,  but  turned 
to  Mergy,  gazed  at  him  for  a time  with  an 
air  of  withering  contempt,  and  then,  noticing 
Captain  George  near  him,  “ Captain,”  said  she, 
“ tell  me  where  this  tall  simpleton  comes  from? 
to  judge  by  his  courtesy  he  must  be  some  Hugue- 
not.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  107 


A general  burst  of  laughter  at  the  remark 
completed  the  confusion  of  its  unlucky  object. 

“ ’Tis  my  brother,  lady,”  replied  George,  not 
quite  so  loud.  “ He  has  been  at  Paris  but  three 
days ; and  on  my  honour  he  is  not  more  awkward 
than  Lannoy  was  before  you  were  good  enough 
to  take  him  in  hand.” 

The  countess  blushed  a little.  “ Captain,” 
said  she,  “ that  is  an  unkind  jest.  Speak  no  ill 
of  the  dead.  But  give  me  your  hand;  I have 
a message  to  you  from  a lady  who  has  somewhat 
to  complain  of  you.” 

The  captain  took  her  hand  ceremoniously, 
and  conducted  her  to  a window  seat  at  some 
distance;  but  as  she  went  she  turned  back  once 
more  to  look  at  Mergy. 

He,  still  dazzled  by  the  beautiful  apparition 
at  which  he  burned  to  gaze,  and  to  which  he  did 
not  dare  to  lift  his  eyes,  felt  a gentle  tap  on  his 
shoulder.  Turning,  he  saw  the  Baron  de  Vau- 
dreuil,  who  took  his  hand  and  led  him  aside,  that 
they  might,  as  he  said,  talk  without  fear  of  in- 
terruption. 

“ My  dear  friend,”  said  the  baron,  “ you  are 
quite  a newcomer  in  this  region,  and  it  is  possible 
that  you  do  not  yet  know  its  rules  of  behaviour.” 

Mergy  looked  at  him  with  astonished  eyes. 

“ Your  brother  is  busy  and  can  not  advise 


108  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


you;  but  if  you  will  allow  me  I will  endeavour 
to  supply  his  place.” 

“ I am  ignorant,  sir,  what  occasion ” 

“You  have  been  grievously  insulted;  and, 
seeing  you  in  a thoughtful  posture,  I doubt  not 
that  you  are  musing  on  the  means  of  vengeance.” 
“ Vengeance!  on  whom?  ” said  Mergy,  blush- 
ing to  the  whites  of  his  eyes. 

“ Did  not  little  Comminges  jostle  you  rudely 
just  now?  The  whole  Court  saw  the  business, 
and  expects  you  to  take  it  seriously.” 

“ But,”  said  Mergy,  “ in  so  crowded  a hall 
it  is  nothing  wonderful  that  some  one  should 
have  pushed  me  without  intending  it.” 

“ M.  de  Mergy,  I have  not  the  honour  to 
know  you  well,  but  your  brother  is  my  intimate 
friend,  and  he  can  tell  you  that  I practise,  as 
well  as  I can,  the  divine  precept  as  to  forgiving 
injuries.  I should  be  very  sorry  to  urge  you 
into  an  unnecessary  quarrel ; but  at  the  same  time 
I think  it  my  duty  to  tell  you  that  Comminges 
did  not  push  you  by  accident.  He  pushed  you 
because  he  wished  to  insult  you;  and  if  he  had 
not  pushed  you  he  would  still  have  given  you 
cause  of  offence;  for  by  picking  up  Madame  de 
Turgis’s  glove  he  intruded  upon  a privilege 
which  belonged  to  you.  The  glove  was  at  your 
feet,  therefore  you  only  had  the  right  to  pick 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  109 


it  up.  Besides,  you  have  only  to  turn  your  head, 
and  you  will  see  Comminges  at  the  end  of  the 
gallery  pointing  the  finger  of  scorn  at  you. 

Mergy  turned,  and  did  perceive  Comminges 
in  the  midst  of  a knot  of  young  men  telling 
some  story  to  which  they  listened  with  interest. 
Nothing,  it  is  true,  showed  that  this  group  was 
talking  of  him;  but  as  his  charitable  adviser 
spoke  Mergy  felt  his  heart  filled  with  violent 
rage. 

“ I will  meet  him  after  the  hunt,”  said  he, 
“ and  I will  discover ” 

“ Never  postpone  a good  resolution  of  this 
kind.  Besides,  it  is  much  less  of  an  offence  to 
God  to  challenge  your  adversary  immediately 
after  the  insult  than  to  do  it  when  you  have  had 
time  for  reflection.  If  you  arrange  a meeting  in 
heat  of  the  moment,  that  is  only  a venial  sin; 
and  if  you  fight  afterwards,  it  is  only  to  escape 
a much  heavier  crime,  that  of  being  false  to  your 
word.  But  I beg  your  pardon;  I had  forgot  that 
I speak  to  a Protestant.  Anyhow,  arrange  your 
meeting;  I will  bring  him  to  speak  with  you  at 
once.” 

“ I trust  he  will  not  refuse  me  the  apologies 
to  which  I am  entitled.” 

“ Do  not  deceive  yourself,  my  good  friend : 
Comminges  has  never  pronounced  the  words  ‘ I 


110  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


was  wrong.’  But  all  the  same,  he  is  a man  of 
the  nicest  honour,  and  will  give  you  every  pos- 
sible satisfaction.” 

Mergy  did  what  he  could  to  choke  down  all 
emotion  and  to  assume  a careless  air. 

“ If  I have  been  insulted,”  said  he,  “I  must 
have  satisfaction ; and  whatever  it  is  I shall  know 
how  to  insist  on  it.” 

“ ’Tis  well,  my  hero;  I am  glad  to  see  your 
pluck;  for  you  cannot  be  ignorant  that  Com- 
minges  is  one  of  our  best  swordsmen.  Faith ! ’tis 
a gentleman  whose  weapons  are  much  at  home 
in  his  hand.  He  learnt  of  Brambilla  at  Rome; 
and  Petit- Jean  declines  fencing  with  him  any 
more.” 

And  as  he  spoke  he  looked  keenly  at  Mergy’s 
face;  a face  somewhat  pale,  but,  as  it  seemed, 
rather  with  wrath  at  the  insult  than  with  fear 
at  its  consequences. 

“ I should  like  to  be  your  second  in  the  busi- 
ness; but  not  to  mention  that  to-morrow  is  my 
day  for  taking  the  sacrament,  I am  pledged  to 
M.  de  Rheincy,  and  I can  not  draw  sword  with 
any  one  else.”  * 

“ I thank  you,  sir;  but  if  we  come  to  ex- 
tremities my  brother  will  be  my  second.” 

* It  was  a point  of  honour  for  a rafjine  not  to  enter  into  any  new  quarrel 
while  had  he  one  unsettled. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  111 


“ The  captain  is  a very  experienced  gentle- 
man in  this  kind  of  affair.  Meanwhile  I will 
bring  Comminges  to  you  for  an  explanation.” 
Mergy  bowed,  and  turning  towards  the  wall, 
he  busied  himself  in  arranging  the  terms  of  the 
challenge  and  in  settling  his  countenance.  There 
is  a certain  graceful  manner  of  bidding  defiance, 
which,  like  a good  many  other  graceful  habits, 
can  only  be  learnt  by  practice.  Now  our  hero 
was  a beginner,  and  he  therefore  felt  a little 
awkwardness;  but  for  the  moment  he  was  much 
less  afraid  of  receiving  a sword-thrust  than  of 
saying  something  unbecoming  a gentleman.  He 
had,  however,  scarcely  hit  upon  words  at  once 
resolute  and  polite,  when  the  Baron  de  Vaudreuil, 
putting  his  hand  on  his  arm,  sent  them  straight 
out  of  his  head. 

Comminges,  hat  in  hand,  and  bowing  with 
very  insolent  politeness,  said  to  him  in  a honeyed 
tone,  “ You  wish  to  speak  to  me,  sir?  ” 

Mergy’s  face  flushed  with  anger;  and  he  an- 
swered at  once,  more  firmly  than  he  could  have 
hoped,  “You  have  behaved  to  me  in  an  insolent 
manner,  and  I demand  satisfaction.” 

Vaudreuil  nodded  his  head  in  approval;  but 
Comminges,  at  once  resuming  an  upright  pos- 
ture, and  setting  (as  was  then  proper  in  such 
cases)  fist  on  hip,  observed  with  much  gravity: 


112  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“You  present  yourself  then,  sir,  as  challenger: 
and  I as  challenged  have  the  choice  of  arms.” 

“ Take  those  which  please  you  best.” 
Comminges  appeared  to  reflect  for  a mo- 
ment. 

“ The  tuck,”  * he  said,  “ is  a good  weapon, 
but  it  makes  ugly  wounds;  and  at  our  age,”  he 
added,  smiling,  “ one  does  not  care  to  show  a 
scar  all  over  the  face  to  one’s  mistress.  The 
rapier  makes  but  a small  hole,  but  ’twill  serve,” 
and  he  smiled  again.  “ Rapier  and  dagger,  then, 
for  me.” 

“Very  well,”  said  Mergy;  and  he  made  as 
if  he  would  depart. 

“One  moment,”  said  Vaudreuil;  “you  have 
not  agreed  on  a meeting-place.” 

“ All  the  Court  goes  to  the  Pre-aux-Clercs,” 
said  Comminges;  “ and  if,  sir,  you  do  not  prefer 

another  place ” 

“ The  Pre-aux-Clercs  be  it.” 

“ Then  for  the  hour?  I shall  not  rise  till  eight 
o’clock,  for  private  reasons  which  you  will  un- 
derstand. Nor  do  I sleep  at  home  to-night,  and 
I could  hardly  be  at  the  Pre  before  nine.” 

“ At  nine  o’clock,  then.” 

As  Mergy  turned  his  eyes  away,  he  saw  close 


* Estoc,  a large  double-edged  sword. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  113 


to  him  the  Countess  de  Turgis,  who  had  left  the 
captain  in  talk  with  another  lady;  and  it  will 
he  easily  understood  that  at  the  sight  of  the  fair 
causer  of  these  harms,  our  hero  charged  his 
countenance  with  a double  dose  of  solemnity  and 
affected  indifference. 

“ For  some  time  past,”  said  Vaudreuil,  “ the 
fashion  has  been  to  fight  in  scarlet  drawers.  If 
you  have  not  got  a pair  ready  made,  I can  lend 
you  one.  They  make  neater  work:  blood  does 
not  show  on  them.” 

“ That  seems  to  me  childish,”  said  Com- 
minges;  and  Mergy  smiled  a rather  awkward 
assent. 

“ Well  then,  my  friends,”  said  the  baron,  who 
seemed  quite  in  his  element,  “ we  have  nothing 
more  to  do  than  to  arrange  the  seconds  and  thirds 
for  the  meeting.”  * 

“ M.  de  Mergy,”  said  Comminges,  “ is  a 
newcomer  at  Court,  and  he  might  have  some  diffi- 
culty in  finding  a third.  So  I will  be  content 
with  a second  only,  to  oblige  him.” 

Mergy,  with  some  little  difficulty,  forced  his 
lips  into  a sort  of  smile. 

“ Courtesy  can  go  no  farther,”  said  the  baron. 
“ Indeed,  it  is  a real  pleasure  to  have  to  do 

* The  seconds  were  often  not  mere  spectators,  but  fought  themselves. 
The  phrases  “to  second”  “to  third”  some  one  were  in  use. 


114  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


with  a gentleman  so  obliging  as  M.  de  Com- 
minges.” 

“ As  you  will  need  a rapier  of  the  same 
length  as  mine,”  continued  Comminges,  “ I 
recommend  you  Laurent,  at  the  Golden  Sun, 
in  the  Rue  de  la  Ferronnerie.  He  is  the  best 
armourer  in  town.  Tell  him  that  I have  sent 
you,  and  he  will  serve  you  well.” 

As  he  finished,  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and 
retired  with  much  calmness  to  the  knot  of  young 
men  he  had  just  left. 

“ I congratulate  you,  M.  Bernard,”  said  Vau- 
dreuil;  “you  managed  your  challenge  excel- 
lently. ’Tis  well — ’tis  very  well!  Comminges  is 
not  accustomed  to  hear  such  language.  He  is 
feared  like  a pestilence,  especially  since  he  killed 
tall  Canillac;  for  as  for  St.  Michel,  whom  he 
also  killed  two  months  ago,  there  was  no  great 
honour  in  that.  St.  Michel  could  not  fence  much ; 
while  Canillac  had  already  killed  his  man  five  or 
six  times  without  a scratch.  He  had  studied  at 
Naples  under  Borelli;  and  they  said  that  Lansac 
on  his  deathbed  had  left  him  the  secret  of  the 
pass  with  which  he  did  so  much  mischief.  To  tell 
the  truth,  though,”  added  he  as  if  to  himself, 
“ Canillac  had  plundered  the  church  of  Auxerre 
and  cast  the  host  to  earth,  so  there  is  no  wonder 
that  he  was  punished.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  115 


Mergy,  who  did  not  find  these  particulars 
amusing,  felt  nevertheless  constrained  to  keep  up 
the  talk,  for  fear  that  some  suspicion  unfavour- 
able to  his  gallantry  should  occur  to  Vaudreuil. 

“ Happily,”  said  he,  “ I never  plundered  a 
church,  and  in  my  whole  life  have  never  even 
touched  the  host,  so  I have  the  less  to  fear.” 

“ One  counsel  more,  though.  When  you 
cross  swords  with  Comminges,  take  special  care 
of  one  of  his  tricks,  which  cost  Captain  Tomaso 
his  life.  He  cried  out  that  his  sword-point  was 
broken,  and  Tomaso  raised  his  own  sword  above 
his  head,  expecting  a cut ; but  Comminges’s  blade 
was  sound  enough,  for  it  went  up  to  a foot  from 
the  hilt  in  Tomaso’s  breast,  which  he  had  left 
unguarded,  not  expecting  the  point.  But  as  you 
are  to  use  rapiers,  there  will  be  less  danger  of 
this.” 

“ I will  do  my  best.” 

“ Ah ! but  listen.  Mind  you  choose  a dagger 
with  a stout  shell;  it  is  invaluable  for  parrying. 
Do  you  see  the  scar  on  my  left  hand?  I got  that 
by  going  out  without  a dagger  one  day.  Young 
Tallard  and  I quarrelled,  and  I was  near  losing 
my  left  hand  for  lack  of  a poniard.” 

“ Was  Tallard  wounded?  ” asked  Mergy 
absently. 

“ I killed  him,  thanks  to  a vow  which  I made 


116  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


to  Monseigneur  Saint  Maurice,  my  patron.  But 
have  some  lint  and  some  linen  about  you;  ’twill 
do  no  harm,  for  a man  is  not  always  killed  out 
of  hand.  And  it  would  be  well  to  have  your 
sword  put  on  the  altar  during  mass-time.  But 
there,  again,  you  are  a Protestant.  One  word 
more:  have  no  punctilio  about  breaking  ground, 
but  give  him  as  much  exercise  as  possible.  He  is 
not  well-breathed ; pump  him : and  when  you  get 
the  chance,  a good  lunge  in  the  chest,  and  your 
man  is  done  for.” 

He  might  have  gone  on  a long  time  with  this 
excellent  advice,  if  a loud  flourish  on  the  horns 
had  not  given  warning  that  the  King  was  about 
to  take  horse.  The  door  of  the  Queen’s  apart- 
ments opened,  and  Their  Majesties,  in  hunting 
costume,  made  for  the  entrance  steps. 

Captain  George,  who  had  just  left  his  lady, 
came  to  his  brother,  and  clapping  him  on  the 
shoulder,  said  cheerfully: 

“ By  the  mass  you  are  a lucky  rascal.  Do  you 
see  this  young  man  with  his  kitten’s  whiskers? 
He  no  sooner  shows  himself  than  all  the  women 
are  mad  after  him.  Know  you  that  your  fair 
countess  has  been  talking  to  me  about  you  for  a 
full  quarter  of  an  hour?  Come,  pluck  up  your 
spirits!  Keep  at  her  side  during  the  hunt,  and 
be  as  gallant  as  you  can.  But  what  the  devil  is 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  117 


the  matter  with  you?  You  look  ill,  and  your  face 
is  as  long  as  a minister’s  at  the  stake.  Be  merry, 
man,  confound  you!  ” 

“ I do  not  care  much  about  the  hunt,  and  I 
should  like ” 

“ If  you  do  not  hunt,”  whispered  Yaudreuil, 
“ Comminges  will  think  you  fear  to  meet  him.” 

“ Come  along  then,”  said  Mergy,  passing  his 
hand  over  his  heated  brow,  and  reflecting  that 
he  had  better  wait  till  the  hunt  was  over  before 
telling  his  adventure  to  his  brother.  “ ’T would 
be  a shame,”  thought  he,  “ if  Madame  de  Turgis 
thought  me  afraid,  or  if  she  believed  that  the 
idea  of  a duel  to  come  spoilt  my  pleasure  in  the 
sport.” 


CHAPTER  X 


THE  HUNT 


“The  very  butcher  of  a silk  button,  a duellist,  a duellist,  a 
gentleman  of  the  very  first  house — of  the  first  and  second  cause : 
ah!  the  immortal  passado  l the  punto  reverso  /” — Shakespeare, 
Romeo  and  Juliet. 


GREAT  number  of  ladies  and  gentle- 


men, richly  dressed  and  splendidly 


mounted,  were  passing  in  all  directions 


about  the  court  of  the  chateau.  The  blare  of 
horns,  the  bay  of  the  hounds,  the  loud  jests  of 
the  riders,  made  up  a hubbub  delightful  to  the 
ears  of  a sportsman  and  hideous  to  those  of 
every  other  human  being. 

Mergy  mechanically  followed  his  brother  into 
the  courtyard,  and,  hardly  knowing  what  he  did, 
found  himself  near  the  fair  countess,  already 
masked,  and  mounted  on  a fiery  jennet,  which 
pawed  and  champed  the  bit  with  impatience. 
But  she,  on  a horse  which  would  have  tasked  the 
full  attention  of  an  ordinary  rider,  seemed  as 
much  at  her  ease  as  though  she  were  seated  in  an 
arm-chair  at  home.  The  captain  made  his  way 


118 


A CHRONICLE 


119 


to  her  on  the  pretext  of  tightening  the  jennet’s 
curb. 

“ Here  is  my  brother,”  said  he  to  the  Amazon 
in  a half -whisper,  but  loud  enough  for  Mergy 
to  catch  his  words.  “ Be  kind  to  the  poor  boy; 
he  has  been  hard  hit  ever  since  the  day  he  saw 
you  at  the  Louvre.” 

“ I have  forgotten  his  name  already,”  she 
said,  rather  shortly;  “ what  is  it?  ” 

“ It  is  Bernard.  Observe,  madame,  that  his 
scarf  is  of  the  same  colour  as  your  ribbons.” 

“ Can  he  ride?  ” 

“ You  shall  see.” 

He  bowed,  and  hastened  off  to  the  side  of 
one  of  the  Queen’s  ladies,  to  whom  for  some  time 
past  he  had  been  paying  his  attentions ; and  there, 
leaning  over  his  saddle-bow  with  his  hand  on  the 
fair  one’s  bridle,  he  soon  forgot  all  about  his 
brother  and  his  beautiful  but  haughty  companion. 

“ You  know  Comminges  then,  M.  de 
Mergy?  ” asked  Madame  de  Turgis. 

“ I,  madame?  very  little,”  answered  he  hesi- 
tatingly. 

“ Yet  you  were  talking  to  him  just  now.” 

“ It  was  for  the  first  time.” 

“ I think  I guess  what  you  said  to  him,”  re- 
plied she ; and  her  eyes,  through  her  mask,  seemed 
to  read  to  the  bottom  of  Mergy’s  soul. 


120  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


Here,  to  his  great  satisfaction,  for  the  con- 
versation embarrassed  him  alarmingly,  a lady 
interrupted  it  by  addressing  the  countess.  But 
he  continued  to  follow  her,  hardly  knowing  why; 
perhaps  he  thought  it  might  annoy  Comminges, 
who  was  watching  him  from  a distance. 

They  left  the  chateau : a stag  was  started,  and 
as  he  plunged  into  the  forest  all  the  hunt  fol- 
lowed him.  Mergy  observed,  not  without  sur- 
prise, the  skill  which  Madame  de  Turgis  showed 
in  managing  her  horse,  and  the  boldness  with 
which  she  urged  him  across  every  obstacle  in  her 
way.  He  owed  it  only  to  the  goodness  of  his 
own  barb  that  he  was  not  left  behind;  but  to  his 
great  annoyance  the  Count  de  Comminges,  as 
well  mounted  as  himself,  also  accompanied  her, 
and  despite  the  speed  of  a headlong  gallop,  de- 
spite his  own  special  attention  to  the  chase  itself, 
frequently  spoke  to  the  fair  horsewoman,  while 
Mergy  silently  envied  his  light  and  careless  de- 
portment, and  especially  his  skill  in  saying  pleas- 
ant nothings  which  he  thought  must  amuse  the 
countess  as  much  as  they  annoyed  himself.  As 
for  other  matters,  the  two  rivals,  urged  by  a 
noble  emulation,  found  neither  hedges  high 
enough  nor  ditches  wide  enough  to  stop  them, 
and  risked  both  their  necks  twenty  times  over. 

Suddenly  the  countess,  leaving  the  main  body 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  121 


of  the  hunt,  struck  into  a ride  diverging  from 
that  which  the  King  and  his  following  had  en- 
tered. 

“What  are  you  doing?”  cried  Comminges; 
“you  are  going  wrong:  do  you  not  hear  the 
horns  and  hounds  on  the  other  side?  ” 

“ Well;  take  the  other  side  if  you  like.  Who 
prevents  you?  ” 

Comminges  made  no  answer,  and  followed 
her,  as  did  Mergy.  But  when  they  had  gone 
some  hundreds  of  yards  up  the  ride  the  coun- 
tess slackened  her  pace,  a movement  which  was 
imitated  at  once  by  Comminges  to  the  right  and 
Mergy  to  the  left  of  her. 

“ That  is  a good  charger  of  yours,  M.  de 
Mergy,”  said  Comminges;  “he  has  not  turned 
a hair.” 

“ ’Tis  a barb  which  my  brother  bought  from 
a Spaniard.  You  may  see  the  scar  of  a sword- 
wound  he  got  at  Montcontour.” 

“ Have  you  served  yourself?  ” said  the  coun- 
tess to  Mergy. 

“ No,  madame.” 

“ Then  you  have  never  received  a shot- 
wound?  ” 

“ Never,  madame.” 

“Nor  a sword-thrust?  ” 

“Nor  that  either.” 


122  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


Mergy  thought  he  noticed  a smile  on  her  face. 
As  for  Comminges,  he  pulled  his  moustache  with 
a sarcastic  air. 

“ Nothing  is  more  becoming  to  a young  gen- 
tleman than  a pretty  wound,”  said  he.  “Do  you 
not  think  so,  madame?  ” 

“ Yes;  if  it  is  well  won.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  by  well  won?  ” 

“ I mean  that  a wound  received  on  the  battle- 
field is  glorious.  But  it  is  different  in  a duel; 
I know  nothing  more  despicable  than  that.” 

“ I am  to  suppose  that  M.  de  Mergy  had 
some  conversation  with  you  before  getting  to 
horse?  ” 

“ No,”  said  the  countess  drily. 

Mergy  rode  his  horse  close  to  Comminges. 
“ Sir,”  whispered  he,  “ as  soon  as  we  have  re- 
joined the  hunt  we  can  turn  into  a thicket;  and 
I shall  hope  to  prove  to  you  there  that  I have 
no  desire  of  avoiding  our  meeting.” 

Comminges  looked  at  him  with  a mixture  of 
pity  and  approval. 

“ Good ; I am  very  well  disposed  to  believe 
you,”  answered  he.  “ But  as  for  your  sugges- 
tion, I can  not  accede  to  it.  We  are  not  nobodies 
to  fight  by  ourselves;  and  our  friends  who  are 
to  be  of  the  party  would  never  forgive  us  for 
not  waiting  for  them.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  123 


“ As  you  like,  sir,”  said  Mergy,  and  he  rode 
once  more  up  to  the  side  of  Madame  de  Turgis, 
whose  horse  had  made  some  paces  in  front.  She 
rode  with  her  head  bowed  on  her  breast,  and 
seemed  lost  in  thought ; nor  did  the  trio  exchange 
a word  till  they  reached  an  open  space  at  the  end 
of  the  ride  into  which  they  had  struck. 

“Is  not  that  a bugle  blast?  ” asked  Com- 
minges. 

“ I think  it  comes  from  the  copse  on  our 
left,”  said  Mergy. 

“Yes,  it  is  the  horn;  I am  sure  of  it  now; 
and  a Bologna  horn  too.  May  I perish  if  it  is 
not  my  friend  Pompignan’s.  You  would  hardly 
believe,  M.  de  Mergy,  the  difference  between 
a true  Bologna  horn  and  those  which  our 
wretched  Paris  craftsmen  make.” 

“ That  particular  one  certainly  sends  its 
sound  far.” 

“ And  what  a sound!  How  full!  The  very 
hounds  as  they  hear  it  might  forget  that  they 
have  run  ten  leagues.  In  fact,  nothing  is  really 
well  made  out  of  Italy  and  Flanders.  What  do 
you  think  of  this  Walloon  ruff  of  mine?  It 
suits  a hunting  dress  well  enough:  I have  ruffs 
and  collars  a la  confusion  to  go  to  balls  in;  but 
this  plain  thing  here,  do  you  think  they  could 
make  it  in  Paris?  Not  a whit:  I got  it  from 


124  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


Breda.  If  you  like,  I can  get  you  another  from 

a friend  of  mine  who  is  in  Flanders.  But ” 

and  he  broke  off  with  a shout  of  laughter — 4 4 Be- 
gad! how  thoughtless  I am.  I had  quite  for- 
gotten  ” 

The  countess  drew  bridle.  “ Comminges,” 
she  said,  4 4 the  hunt  is  in  front  there,  and  to 
judge  by  the  horn  the  stag  is  at  bay.” 

44 1 think  you  are  right,  fair  lady.” 

44  And  will  you  not  be  in  at  the  death?  ” 

44  Why,  certainly;  otherwise  our  fame  as 
huntsmen  and  horsemen  is  gone.” 

44  Then  you  must  make  haste.” 

44  Yes;  our  horses  have  had  time  to  breathe. 
Come,  give  us  the  word.” 

44  For  my  part,  I am  tired,  and  shall  stay 
here.  M.  de  Mergy  will  bear  me  company.  Now 
go.” 

44  But ” 

44  Am  I to  tell  you  twice?  Set  spurs  to 
your  horse.” 

But  Comminges  did  not  stir:  his  cheeks 
flushed,  and  he  looked  from  Mergy  to  the  coun- 
tess with  flaming  eyes. 

44  Madame  de  Turgis  desires  a tete-a-tete” 
said  he  with  a bitter  smile. 

The  countess  pointed  to  the  plantation  whence 
came  the  sound  of  the  horn,  and  with  her  finger- 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  125 


tips  made  a very  significant  motion  of  dis- 
missal. But  still  Comminges  seemed  unable  to 
make  up  his  mind  to  leave  the  coast  clear  to  his 
rival. 

“ It  would  seem  that  one  may  not  mince  mat- 
ters with  you.  Be  kind  enough  to  leave  us,  M. 
de  Comminges,  for  your  company  is  troublesome. 
Do  you  understand  me  now?  33 

“ Entirely,  madame,”  said  he  in  a rage.  And 
he  added  lower,  “ But  as  for  this  carpet-knight 
of  yours,  he  will  have  no  long  time  to  amuse 
you  in.  Farewell,  M.  de  Mergy;  we  meet 
again.”  He  laid  a deep  stress  on  the  last  words, 
and  spurring  hard,  set  off  at  a gallop. 

The  countess  checked  her  own  steed,  which 
would  have  followed  the  example,  brought  him 
to  a walk,  and  for  a time  proceeded  silently, 
raising  her  head  now  and  then  and  looking  at 
Mergy  as  though  she  were  about  to  speak,  then 
turning  her  eyes  away  as  if  ashamed  at  being 
unable  to  find  a phrase  wherewith  to  begin. 

It  seemed  to  Mergy  that  the  obligation  of 
beginning  rested  with  him. 

“ I am  proud,  madame,  of  the  preference  you 
have  shown  me,”  said  he. 

“ Monsieur  Bernard,  can  you  fence?  ” 

“Of  course,  madame,”  answered  he  with  sur- 
prise. 


126  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ But  can  you  fence  well — very  well,  I 
mean?  ” 

“Well  enough  for  a gentleman,  and  badly, 
no  doubt,  for  a fencing-master.” 

“ But  in  our  country  gentlemen  are  too  hard 
with  the  sword  for  professional  masters.” 

“ True.  I have  heard  that  many  of  our  youth 
waste  in  fencing-rooms  time  they  might  better 
spend  elsewhere.” 

" Better ?" 

“ Why,  yes.  Is  it  not  better  worth  while,” 
said  he  smiling,  “ to  talk  with  a lady  than  to  per- 
spire in  a fencing-room?  ” 

“ Tell  me,  have  you  been  out  often?  ” 

“ Never  once,  madame,  thank  God ! But  why 
all  these  questions?  ” 

“ Learn,  for  your  future  instruction,  that  you 
should  never  ask  a lady  why  she  does  this  or  that ; 
such  at  least  is  the  custom  of  well-bred  gentle- 
men.” 

“ I am  corrected,  and  will  obey,”  said  Mergy, 
smiling  slightly,  and  bowing  to  his  horse’s 
mane. 

“ Then,  what  will  you  do  to-morrow?  ” 

“ To-morrow?  ” 

“Yes;  do  not  affect  astonishment.” 

“ Madame ” 

“Answer  me;  for  I know  all.  Answer!” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  127 


cried  she,  with  a royal  gesture  of  her  hand  to- 
wards him.  Her  finger-tip  just  touched  Mergy’s 
sleeve,  and  sent  a shiver  through  him. 

“ I shall  do  my  best,”  said  he  at  last. 

“ I like  the  answer.  ’Tis  neither  that  of  a 
coward  nor  that  of  a swaggerer.  But  you  must 
know  that  you,  a mere  beginner,  have  to  do  with 
a very  formidable  enemy.” 

“ What  would  you  have?  I shall  feel  very 
awkward,  no  doubt,  as  I do  now,”  added  he 
smiling.  “ The  only  women  I have  seen  have 
been  peasant  girls,  and  at  my  entrance  on  cour- 
tiership  I find  myself  tete-a-tete  with  the  fairest 
lady  in  the  Court  of  France.” 

“ Let  us  speak  seriously.  Comminges  is  the 
best  swordsman  of  this  Court,  which  is  full 
enough  of  rufflers.  He  is  the  king  of  the 
rafjlnes " 

“ So  they  say.” 

“ Well,  are  you  not  anxious?  ” 

“ I can  only  repeat  that  I shall  do  my  best. 
One  need  never  despair  with  a good  sword,  and, 
above  all,  with  the  help  of  God.” 

“The  help  of  God!”  said  she  scornfully. 
“ Are  you  not  a Huguenot,  M.  de  Mergy?  ” 

“ I am,  madame,”  said  he  with  an  air  of 
gravity,  as  was  his  wont  in  reply  to  such  a ques- 
tion. 


128  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ Then  your  risk  is  greater  than  another’s.” 

“ Why?” 

“ To  endanger  one’s  life  is  nothing;  but  you 
endanger  more  than  your  life — your  soul.” 

“You  speak,  madame,  according  to  the  ideas 
of  your  own  religion.  Mine  gives  me  more  com- 
fort.” 

“You  are  about  to  play  a terrible  losing 
game : eternity  on  one  dice-throw,  and  sizes 
against  you.” 

“But  it  would  be  the  same,  anyhow;  for  if 
to-morrow  I died  a Catholic,  I should  die  in 
mortal  sin.” 

“ There  is  much  to  say  on  that  head,  and  the 
difference  is  great!  ” cried  she,  vexed  that  Mergy 
should  turn  her  own  beliefs  against  her.  “ Our 
doctors  will  prove  to  you ” 

“ Oh,  no  doubt.  They  have  proofs  for  every- 
thing. They  take  the  liberty  of  changing  the 
gospel  itself  to  suit  their  fancies.  For  in- 
stance  ” 

“ A truce  with  that ! One  can  not  talk  for  a 
moment  with  a Huguenot  but  he  brings  in  the 
Holy  Scriptures  on  every  subject.” 

“Because  we  read  them;  while  your  very 
priests  know  them  not.  But,  as  you  say,  let  us 
change  the  subject.  Do  you  think  the  stag  is 
taken  yet?  ” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  129 


“ Then  you  are  deeply  attached  to  your  re- 
ligion? ” 

“It  is  you  who  are  beginning  again, 
madame.” 

“ You  think  it  a good  one?  ” 

“ Much  more : I think  it  the  best,  the  only 
good.  I should  change  it  else.” 

“ But  your  brother  has  changed.” 

“ He  had  his  reasons  for  becoming  a Catho- 
lic; I have  mine  for  remaining  a Protestant.” 

“ They  are  all  obstinate,  and  deaf  to  the  voice 
of  reason ! ” cried  she  angrily. 

“ It  will  rain  to-morrow,”  said  Mergy,  look- 
ing at  the  sky. 

“ M.  de  Mergy,  my  friendship  for  your 
brother  and  your  own  approaching  danger  make 
me  feel  an  interest  in  you.” 

He  bowed  respectfully. 

“ You  heretics,  you  believe  not  in  relics?  ” 

He  smiled. 

“ And  you  would  think  yourselves  polluted 
by  touching  them?  ” continued  she.  “You  would 
refuse  to  wear  them  as  we  Roman  Catholics  are 
wont  to  do?  ” 

“ The  custom  appears  to  us,  to  say  the  least, 
useless.” 

“ Listen.  One  of  my  cousins  once  tied  a 
relic  to  the  neck  of  a hound,  and  then  at  twelve 


130  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


paces  fired  an  arquebuss  loaded  with  buck-shot 
at  him.” 

“ And  the  dog  was  killed?  ” 

“ Not  a shot  touched  him.” 

“ That  is  really  wonderful.  I should  like  to 
have  a relic  like  that.” 

“Indeed?  And  you  would  wear  it?” 

“ Certainly.  As  the  relic  protected  a dog, 

a fortiori But  wait  a minute,  is  it  sure  that 

a heretic  is  worth  a dog — a Catholic’s  dog,  of 
course?  ” 

Madame  de  Turgis  paid  no  attention  to  him, 
but  swiftly  undid  the  buttons  of  her  tight-fitting 
bodice,  and  drew  from  her  bosom  a little  box  of 
gold,  quite  flat  in  shape  and  fastened  to  a black 
ribbon. 

“There!”  said  she;  “you  have  promised 
to  wear  it;  you  must  give  it  me  back  some 
day.” 

“ If  I can,  I certainly  will.” 

“ But  listen.  You  will  take  care  of  it? — no 
sacrilegious  tricks!  You  will  take  the  greatest 
care  of  it?  ” 

“ It  comes  from  you,  madame!  ” 

She  gave  him  the  relic,  which  he  took  and  put 
round  his  neck. 

“ A Catholic  would  have  paid  his  thanks  to 
the  hand  which  gave  him  that  holy  talisman.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  131 


Mergy  seized  her  hand,  and  tried  to  raise  it 
to  his  lips. 

“ No,  no;  ’tis  too  late!  ” 

“ But  think!  I may  never  have  such  fortune 
again ! ” 

“ Take  off  my  glove,  then,”  said  she,  holding 
out  the  hand  to  him. 

As  he  drew  it  off,  he  seemed  to  feel  a slight 
squeeze,  and  he  pressed  a burning  kiss  on  the 
white  and  lovely  fingers. 

“ Monsieur  Bernard,”  said  the  countess,  in  a 
voice  full  of  emotion,  “ will  you  be  headstrong 
to  the  end,  and  can  nothing  touch  you?  Will  you 
at  last  be  converted  by  my  means?  ” 

“ I can  not  tell,”  answered  he,  laughing. 
“ But  pray  let  your  entreaties  be  strong  and  long. 
One  thing  is  certain,  no  one  shall  convert  me  but 
you.” 

“ Tell  me  frankly,  if  a woman — a woman  who 
knew ” 

She  stopped. 

“ A woman  who  knew?  ” 

“ Yes.  Is  it  possible  that  love But  be 

candid!  Speak  to  me  seriously!” 

“ Seriously?  ” And  he  tried  once  more  to 
seize  her  hand. 

“ Yes.  Could  the  love  which  you  might  feel 
for  a woman  of  another  faith  than  yours — could 


132  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


not  such  a love  make  you  change  ? God  employs 
all  sorts  of  means.” 

“ And  you  would  have  me  reply  frankly  and 
seriously?  ” 

“ I insist  on  it.” 

Mergy  stooped  his  head,  and  was  slow  to 
reply.  In  fact,  he  was  seeking  for  an  evasive 
answer.  He  had  no  wish  to  repulse  the  advances 
which  Madame  de  Turgis  was  making  to  him; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  a courtier  of  some  hours’ 
standing  only,  he  still  bore  a country  conscience 
terribly  full  of  scruples. 

“ I hear  the  hallali! " cried  the  countess  sud- 
denly, without  waiting  for  this  answer  which  was 
so  difficult  to  make.  And  touching  her  horse 
with  her  whip,  she  galloped  off,  Mergy  follow- 
ing her,  but  without  receiving  from  her  word 
or  look.  In  a moment  they  had  rejoined  the 
hunt. 

The  stag  had  at  first  plunged  into  the  midst 
of  a pond,  from  which  he  was  dislodged  with  diffi- 
culty by  several  riders,  who  dismounted,  armed 
themselves  with  long  poles,  and  obliged  the  poor 
beast  to  start  afresh.  But  the  cold  of  the  water 
had  completed  the  exhaustion  of  his  strength. 
He  left  the  pond,  panting,  with  tongue  lolling 
out,  and  running  in  irregular  bounds.  The 
hounds,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  to  redouble 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  133 


their  eagerness;  but,  at  a short  distance  from  the 
pond,  the  stag,  feeling  that  escape  by  flight  was 
impossible,  seemed  resolved  to  make  a last  effort, 
and,  backing  against  a massive  oak,  headed  to- 
wards the  hounds.  The  foremost  to  attack  were 
gored  and  tossed  aloft,  while  a horse  and  his 
rider  were  upset  headlong.  Warned  by  this,  men, 
dogs,  and  horses  made  a wide  ring  round  the 
stag  without  daring  to  come  within  reach  of 
his  threatening  antlers. 

The  King  dismounted  lightly,  and  slipping, 
hunting-knife  in  hand,  adroitly  behind  the  oak, 
houghed  the  stag  with  a back  stroke.  The  beast 
uttered  a kind  of  hissing  groan,  and  fell  at  once. 
Immediately  a score  of  hounds  dashed  on  him; 
and,  seized  by  throat,  muzzle,  and  tongue,  he 
was  pinned  down,  the  large  tears  rolling  from  his 
eyes. 

“ Call  the  ladies  closer!  ” cried  the  King;  and 
the  ladies,  almost  all  of  whom  had  dismounted, 
came  near. 

“ Take  that,  parpaillot!  " said  he,  plunging 
his  hunting-knife,  which  he  turned  in  the  wound 
to  make  it  larger,  into  the  stag’s  side.  The  blood 
gushed  forth  with  violence,  and  covered  the  royal 
face  and  hands  and  dress.  Now  parpaillot  was 
a term  of  contempt  which  Catholics  often  applied 
to  Calvinists,  and  the  word  and  the  way  in  which 


134 


A CHRONICLE 


it  was  used  offended  many,  while  it  was  ap- 
plauded by  others. 

“ The  King  looks  like  a butcher,”  said  young 
Teligny,  the  Admiral’s  son-in-law,  pretty  loud, 
and  with  a disgusted  air.  Nor  did  charitable 
souls,  such  as  especially  abound  at  Court,  fail 
to  convey  the  observation  to  the  monarch,  who 
did  not  forget  it. 

After  enjoying  the  agreeable  spectacle  of  the 
dogs  devouring  the  entrails  of  the  deer,  the  Court 
returned  to  Paris.  On  the  way  Mergy  told  his 
brother  of  the  insult  he  had  received  and  the  chal- 
lenge which  had  followed.  Advice  and  remon- 
strance were  in  vain;  and  the  captain  promised 
to  bear  him  company  in  the  morning. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  HAITINK  AND  THE  PRE-AUX-CLERCS 

“For  one  of  us  must  yield  his  breath 
Ere  from  the  field  one  foot  we  flee.” 

The  Duel  of  Stuart  and  Wharton. 

Notwithstanding  the  fatigues 

of  the  chase,  Mergy  passed  no  small 
part  of  the  night  without  sleeping. 
He  turned  feverishly  from  side  to  side  in  bed, 
and  his  fancy  became  abominably  active  under 
the  excitement.  A thousand  thoughts,  which  had 
only  an  accidental  connection  or  no  connection  at 
all  with  what  was  impending,  beset  and  disturbed 
his  brain;  and  more  than  once  he  thought  that 
the  feverish  disturbance  he  felt  was  but  the  pre- 
lude of  a serious  illness  which  would  show  itself 
in  a few  hours  and  confine  him  to  bed.  What 
would  become  of  his  honour  then?  what  would 
the  world  say?  what,  above  all,  would  Madame 
de  Turgis  and  Comminges  say?  He  would  have 
given  much  to  hasten  on  the  hour  fixed  for  the 
combat. 

Luckily  at  sunrise  he  felt  his  blood  course 

more  steadily,  and  he  thought  with  less  emotion 

135 


136  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


of  the  coming  meeting.  He  dressed  himself 
quietly,  and  even  devoted  some  minute  attention 
to  his  toilet.  He  imagined  the  beautiful  coun- 
tess hastening  to  the  battle-field,  finding  him 
slightly  wounded,  dressing  the  wound  with  her 
own  hands,  and  making  no  secret  of  her  love. 
The  stroke  of  eight  on  the  clock  of  the  Louvre 
put  these  fancies  to  flight;  and  almost  at  the 
same  moment  his  brother  entered  the  room.  A 
deep  sadness  marked  his  countenance,  and  it  was 
pretty  clear  that  he  had  passed  no  better  night; 
yet  he  forced  a pleasant  and  cheerful  smile  as 
he  grasped  Mergy’s  hand. 

“ Here,”  he  said,  “ is  a rapier  for  you,  and 
a dagger  with  shell-hilt,  both  by  Luno  of  Toledo ; 
see  if  the  weight  of  the  sword  suits  you.”  And 
he  threw  on  Mergy’s  bed  a long  rapier  and  a 
poniard. 

Mergy  drew  the  sword,  bent  it,  looked  at  the 
point,  and  seemed  satisfied.  Then  he  directed  his 
atention  to  the  poniard,  the  hilt  of  which  was 
slashed  with  a vast  number  of  small  holes,  in- 
tended to  catch  the  point  of  the  adversary’s  sword 
and  hold  it  so  that  it  could  not  be  easily  disen- 
gaged. 

“ With  such  good  tools  as  these,”  said  he, 
“ I think  I can  hold  my  own.”  Then,  pointing 
to  the  relic  which  Madame  de  Turgis  had  given 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  137 


him,  and  which  he  had  kept  hidden  in  his  bosom : 
“ Here,”  he  added  smiling,  “ is  a talisman  as  well, 
which  preserves  one  from  sword-thrusts  better 
than  any  coat  of  mail.” 

“ Where  did  you  get  that  bauble?  ” 

“ You  may  guess.”  And  his  pride  in  appear- 
ing as  a ladies’  darling  made  him  for  the  moment 
forget  both  Comminges  and  the  duelling  sword 
which  lay  naked  before  him. 

“ I will  bet  that  that  mad  countess  has  given 
it  you.  The  devil  take  her  and  her  box  both.” 

“ Don’t  you  know  that  it  is  a charm  which 
she  has  given  me  expressly  for  use  to-day?  ” 

“ She  had  better  have  shown  herself  gloved 
instead  of  seeking  a chance  of  exhibiting  her 
pretty  white  hand!  ” 

“ God  forbid,”  said  Mergy,  blushing  deeply, 
“ that  I should  believe  in  these  Papist  relics.  But 
if  I am  to  fall  to-day  I should  like  her  to  know 
that  I fell  with  her  gage  on  my  breast.” 

“ Coxcomb!  ” cried  the  captain,  shrugging  his 
shoulders. 

“ Here  is  a letter  for  my  mother,”  said  Mergy, 
in  a voice  that  trembled  somewhat.  George  took 
it  without  a word,  and,  walking  up  to  the  table, 
opened  a little  Bible  and  read  in  it  to  settle  his 
countenance,  while  his  brother,  completing  his 
toilet,  was  busy  in  trussing  the  multitude  of 


138  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 

points  which  were  then  worn.  On  the  first  page 
that  George  opened  he  found  these  words  in  his 
mother’s  hand:  “ On  the  first  of  May,  1547,  my 
son  Bernard  was  born.  Lord!  keep  him  in  Thy 
ways.  Lord!  preserve  him  from  all  evil.”  He 
bit  his  lips  savagely,  and  threw  the  book  on  the 
table.  Mergy,  who  saw  the  action,  thought  that 
some  impious  fancy  had  crossed  his  brother’s 
brain;  he  took  up  the  Bible  gravely,  replaced  it 
in  its  embroidered  case,  and  locked  it  up  in  a cabi- 
net with  every  mark  of  reverence.  “ ’Tis  my 
mother’s  Bible,”  he  said. 

The  captain  answered  not,  but  paced  up  and 
down  the  room. 

“ Ought  we  not  to  go?  ” said  Mergy,  buck- 
ling the  belt  of  his  sword. 

“Not  yet;  we  have  plenty  of  time  for  break- 
fast.” 

Both  took  their  places  before  a table  covered 
with  cakes  of  different  kinds,  which  were  flanked 
by  a great  silver  tankard  of  wine.  As  they  ate 
they  argued  at  great  length  and  with  apparent 
interest  on  the  merits  of  the  liquor  as  compared 
with  others  in  the  captain’s  cellar,  each  attempt- 
ing under  cover  of  this  trivial  conversation  to 
hide  the  real  thoughts  of  his  heart  from  his  com- 
panion. 

The  captain  rose  first.  “Let  us  go!”  said 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  139 


he  hoarsely;  and  crushing  his  hat  over  his  eyes 
he  hastily  went  downstairs. 

They  took  boat  and  crossed  the  Seine,  their 
boatman,  who  guessed  by  their  appearance  the 
errand  which  took  them  to  the  Pre-aux-Clercs, 
exhibiting  great  alacrity.  As  he  pulled  stoutly 
across  he  recounted  to  them  with  much  circum- 
stance how,  the  month  before,  two  gentlemen, 
one  of  whom  was  called  the  Count  de  Comminges, 
had  done  him  the  honour  to  hire  his  boat  in  order 
to  fight  comfortably  in  it  without  fear  of  dis- 
turbance. M.  de  Comminges’s  adversary,  whose 
name  he  was  sorry  not  to  have  heard,  had  been 
run  through  the  body  and  upset  into  the  river 
as  well;  nor  had  he,  the  boatman,  ever  been  able 
to  fish  him  out. 

As  they  touched  land  they  saw  a boat  with 
passengers  crossing  the  river  some  score  of  yards 
lower  down.  “ There  are  our  men,”  said  the 
captain;  “ stay  you  here.”  And  he  ran  to  meet 
the  boat,  which  carried  Comminges  and  the  Vis- 
count de  Beville. 

“‘Ah!  ” cried  the  latter,  “ there  you  are!  Is 
it  you  or  your  brother  that  Comminges  is  going 
to  kill?  ” And  as  he  spoke  he  laughed  and  em- 
braced him. 

The  captain  and  Comminges  exchanged  for- 
mal bows. 


140  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ Sir,”  said  the  captain  to  Comminges,  as 
soon  as  he  could  disengage  himself  from  Beville’s 
embrace,  “ I think  it  my  duty  to  make  a last 
effort  to  prevent  fatal  consequences  in  a quarrel 
which  is  founded  on  no  point  of  honour.  I am 
sure  that  my  friend  will  join  his  efforts  to  mine.” 
He  pointed  to  Beville;  but  Beville  grinned 
and  shook  his  head. 

“ My  brother,”  went  on  George,  “ is  very 
young,  and  having  no  repute  or  experience  in 
arms,  he  is  obliged  in  consequence  to  show  him- 
self more  punctilious  than  another  might.  Your 
reputation,  sir,  on  the  other  hand,  is  made,  and 
your  honour  can  only  gain  by  it  if  you  will  be 
good  enough  to  admit,  in  my  presence  and  M.  de 

Beville’s,  that  it  was  by  oversight ” 

Comminges  interrupted  him  with  a burst  of 
laughter. 

“ Are  you  joking,  my  dear  captain?  or  do  you 
think  me  the  sort  of  man  to  leave  my  lady’s 
bower  at  this  time  and  cross  the  Seine  in  order 
to  beg  pardon  of  a schoolboy?  ” 

“You  forget,  sir,  that  he  of  whom  you  speak 

is  my  brother;  and  you  insult ” 

“ If  he  were  your  father,  what  does  it  matter 
to  me?  I care  nothing  for  the  whole  family.” 
“Well  then,  sir,  with  your  good  leave,  you 
shall  have  to  do  with  the  whole  family;  and  as 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  141 


I am  the  eldest,  you  will  please  to  begin  with 
me.” 

“ Pardon  me,  sir  captain,  I am  bound  by  all 
the  rules  of  the  duello  to  fight  with  the  person 
who  challenged  me  first.  Your  brother’s  prior 
right  is  imprescriptible,  as  they  say  in  the  Palace 
of  Justice.  When  I have  finished  with  him  I 
am  at  your  commands.” 

“ That  is  quite  right,”  cried  Beville ; “ and 
for  my  part  I will  consent  to  no  other  course  of 
proceeding.” 

Mergy,  astonished  at  the  length  of  the  col- 
loquy, had  approached  slowly.  He  came  up 
in  time  to  hear  his  brother  load  Comminges 
with  insults,  even  to  the  point  of  calling  him 
coward,  while  Comminges  replied  with  perfect 
coolness — 

“ After  your  brother’s  turn  I will  attend  to 
you.” 

Mergy  seized  his  brother’s  arm. 

“ George!  ” he  cried,  “ is  this  the  way  you  do 
me  service?  And  would  you  wish  me  to  take 
your  part  as  you  are  trying  to  take  mine?  Sir,” 
added  he,  turning  to  Comminges,  “ I am  at  your 
orders.  We  will  begin  as  soon  as  you  like.” 

“ Then  let  us  not  lose  a moment,”  said  Com- 
minges. 

“Excellent,  my  dear  fellow!”  said  Beville, 


142  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


grasping  Mergy’s  hand.  “You  will  go  far,  my 
boy,  if  we  are  lucky  enough  not  to  have  to  bury 
you  here.” 

Comminges  stripped  off  his  doublet  and  un- 
did the  strings  of  his  shoes,  to  signify  that  he 
would  not  retreat  a step,  as  was  the  fashion  with 
professional  duellists.  Mergy  and  Beville  did 
the  same;  the  captain  alone  had  not  so  much  as 
thrown  off  his  cloak. 

“ What  are  you  at,  George,  my  friend?  ” said 
Beville.  Don’t  you  know  that  you  and  I must 
have  a turn  together?  We  are  none  of  the  sec- 
onds who  stand  with  folded  arms  while  their 
friends  fight.  We  follow  the  Spanish  fashion.” 

The  captain  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

“You  think  I am  joking?  I swear  to  you, 
by  my  honour,  that  you  must  fight  with  me.  The 
devil  take  me  if  you  shall  not!” 

“ You  are  a madcap  and  a fool,”  said  the 
captain  coolly. 

“ By  Jove!  you  shall  do  me  reason  for  those 
two  little  words,  or  you  will  drive  me  to  take 

measures ” And  he  lifted  his  still  sheathed 

sword,  as  though  he  would  strike  George. 

“ You  will  have  it?  ” said  the  captain.  “ Be 
it  so ! ” And  in  a second  he  had  stripped  to  his 
shirt. 

Comminges  shook  his  sword  in  the  air  with 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  143 


a studied  elegance,  and  at  a single  stroke  made 
the  scabbard  fly  twenty  paces  off.  Beville  tried 
to  do  the  like,  but  the  scabbard  stuck  half-way 
on  the  blade,  which  was  held  at  the  time  to  be 
at  once  a proof  of  awkwardness  and  a bad  omen. 
The  two  brothers  drew  their  swords  with  less 
flourish,  but  they  too  flung  down  the  scabbards, 
which  might  have  been  in  the  way.  Each  man 
faced  his  foe,  naked  sword  in  the  right  hand, 
dagger  in  the  left;  and  the  four  blades  crossed 
at  the  same  moment.  First  of  all,  George  (by 
the  device  which  Italian  masters  called  then 
Liscio  di  spada  e cavare  alia  vita  * and  which  con- 
sists in  meeting  the  weak  part  of  the  sword  with 
the  strong,  so  as  to  deflect  and  beat  down  the 
adversary’s  blade)  made  Beville’s  sword  fly  from 
his  hand,  and  set  his  own  point  at  his  antagonist’s 
breast;  but  instead  of  running  him  through,  he 
coolly  lowered  his  weapon. 

“ You  are  no  match  for  me,”  he  said.  “ Do 
not  wait  till  I am  angry.” 

Beville  had  grown  pale  on  seeing  George’s 
sword  so  close  to  his  breast.  A little  out  of  coun- 
tenance, he  held  out  his  hand  to  him;  and  both, 
sticking  their  swords  in  the  ground,  fixed  their 
attention  on  the  two  principals. 

* To  strike  the  blade  and  disengage  at  the  body.  All  fencing  terms 
were  then  borrowed  from  Italian. 


144  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


Mergy  was  brave,  and  had  plenty  of  coolness. 
He  fenced  well  enough,  and  his  bodily  strength 
was  much  greater  than  that  of  Comminges,  who 
seemed  not  to  have  recovered  his  exertions  of 
the  night  before.  For  some  time  he  confined  him- 
self to  parrying  with  extreme  care,  breaking 
ground  when  Comminges  pressed  him  too  hard, 
and  always  keeping  the  point  of  his  rapier  at 
his  adversary’s  face  while  he  covered  his  own 
breast  with  the  dagger.  This  unexpected  re- 
sistance irritated  Comminges,  who  grew  visibly 
paler;  this  paleness  in  so  brave  a man  only  in- 
dicating excessive  rage.  His  attacks  grew  faster 
and  more  furious,  till  in  making  a pass  he  beat 
up  Mergy’s  sword  with  much  skill,  and,  lung- 
ing fiercely,  would  certainly  have  run  him 
^through  and  through,  save  for  an  almost  miracu- 
lous accident  which  spoilt  the  stroke.  The  point 
of  the  rapier  struck  the  polished  gold  reliquary, 
which  turned  it  and  made  it  take  an  oblique  direc- 
tion; so  that  instead  of  penetrating  Mergy’s 
breast,  the  sword  only  pierced  the  skin,  and,  fol- 
lowing a line  parallel  to  the  fifth  rib,  came  out 
some  two  inches  from  the  first  incision.  Before 
Comminges  could  draw  back  his  sword,  Mergy 
struck  him  with  his  dagger  on  the  head  so  vio- 
lently that  he  himself  lost  his  balance  and  fell 
to  the  ground.  Comminges  dropped  at  the  same 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  145 


time,  so  that  the  seconds  thought  them  both 
dead. 

Mergy  was  soon  on  his  feet,  and  his  first 
motion  was  to  pick  up  his  sword  which  he  had 
let  slip  in  his  fall.  Comminges  did  not  stir.  Be- 
ville  lifted  him  up,  and  wiping  with  a handker- 
chief his  face,  which  was  drenched  in  blood,  saw 
that  the  dagger  had  entered  the  eye,  and  that 
his  friend  had  been  killed  on  the  spot,  the  steel 
having  beyond  all  doubt  pierced  the  brain. 

Mergy  stared  at  the  corpse  with  haggard  eyes. 

“ You  are  wounded,  Bernard,”  said  the  cap- 
tain, running  up  to  him. 

“Wounded!”  cried  Mergy;  and  then  only 
did  he  notice  that  his  shirt  was  bloody. 

“ ’Tis  nothing,”  said  the  captain;  “ the  blow 
slipped.”  He  stanched  the  blood  with  his  hand- 
kerchief, and  asked  for  Beville’s  to  complete  the 
dressing.  Beville  let  the  body  which  he  held 
fall  back  on  the  sward,  and  at  once  gave,  not 
only  his  own  handkerchief,  but  that  of  Com- 
minges, which  he  fetched  from  his  doublet. 

“Zooks!  friend,”  cried  he,  “what  a dagger- 
stroke  ! You  have  something  like  an  arm ! Death 
of  my  life!  what  will  our  gentlemen  raffines  of 
Paris  say  if  the  provinces  send  up  gallants  of 
your  kidney?  Pray  you,  tell  me,  how  many  duels 
have  you  fought  already?  ” 


146  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ Alas!  ” said  Mergy,  “ this  is  the  first.  But 
in  God’s  name  look  to  your  friend.” 

“ He  wants  no  looking  to,  by  Jove!  after  the 
way  you  have  handled  him.  The  dagger  has 
pierced  the  brain,  and  the  blow  was  dealt  so  featly 
and  hard  that — look  at  his  cheek  and  eyebrow! 
The  shell  of  the  poniard  has  stamped  itself  on 
them  like  a seal  of  wax.” 

Mergy  shivered  all  over,  and  great  tears  be- 
gan to  trickle  down  his  cheeks. 

Beville  picked  up  the  dagger  and  looked 
curiously  at  the  flutings  full  of  blood.  “ Here 
is  a tool,”  said  he,  “ to  which  Comminges’s 
younger  brother  ought  to  burn  a stout  candle. 
This  pretty  poniard  estates  him  in  a splendid 
fortune.” 

“ Let  us  go ; take  me  hence,”  said  Mergy  in 
a stifled  voice,  seizing  his  brother’s  arm. 

“ Do  not  distress  yourself,”  said  George,  as 
he  helped  him  to  put  on  his  doublet.  “ After  all, 
the  man  you  have  killed  is  not  particularly  worth 
mourning.” 

“ Poor  Comminges!  ” cried  Beville;  “ to  think 
that  you,  who  have  fought  a hundred  times,  were 
killed  by  a youngster  in  his  first  duel!  Poor 
Comminges!”  And  this  was  the  end  of  his 
funeral  sermon. 

But  as  he  cast  a last  look  on  his  friend  Beville 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  147 


perceived  the  defunct’s  watch  hanging,  as  was 
then  the  fashion,  from  his  neck.  “By  Jove!” 
cried  he,  “ you  have  no  need  to  know  the  time  of 
day  now.”  And  he  undid  and  pocketed  the 
watch,  remarking  that  Comminges’s  brother 
would  be  quite  rich  enough  as  it  was,  and  that 
he  himself  should  like  a keepsake  of  his  friend. 

As  the  two  brothers  were  moving  off,  “ Wait 
for  me,”  he  cried  out  to  them,  putting  on  his 
doublet  hastily.  “ Ah,  Monsieur  de  Mergy,  you 
are  forgetting  your  dagger.  Do  not  lose  that, 
at  any  rate,”  and  he  wiped  the  blade  on  the  dead 
man’s  shirt  and  ran  to  catch  up  the  young  duel- 
list.  “ Console  yourself,  my  dear  fellow,”  he 
said,  as  he  slipped  into  his  boat.  “ Do  not  pull 
such  a rueful  countenance.  Take  my  advice,  and 
instead  of  bemoaning  yourself,  pay  a visit  this 
very  day  fresh  from  this  business  to  your  mis- 
tress, and  try  if  you  can  not  give  a citizen  to 
the  State  in  the  place  of  him  of  whom  you  have 
deprived  it.  Then  will  the  world  have  lost  noth- 
ing by  you.  Come,  boatman,  pull  as  if  you 
wished  to  earn  a pistole.  There  are  some  gentry 
with  halberds  coming  towards  us;  they  must  be 
the  watch  from  the  Tour  de  Nesle,  and  we  do  not 
want  to  have  anything  to  do  with  them.” 


CHAPTER  XII 


WHITE  MAGIC 

“Last  night  I dreamt  of  dead  fish  and  broken  eggs;  and  I have 
learnt  from  Master  Anaxarchus  that  broken  eggs  and  dead  fish 
betoken  ill-luck.” — Moliere,  Les  Amants  Magnifiques. 

r | AHE  halberdiers  were  in  fact  some  of  the 
I soldiers  of  the  watch,  a troop  of  whom 
was  always  stationed  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  Pre-aux-Clercs,  so  as  to  be  ready  to 
interpose  in  the  quarrels  which  were  wont  to  be 
settled  on  this  ground  sacred  to  duels.  Accord- 
ing to  their  custom,  they  had  come  up  very 
slowly,  and  so  as  not  to  reach  the  spot  till  all 
was  over.  For,  to  tell  the  truth,  their  peace- 
making intentions  were  often  very  ill  received; 
and  more  than  once  desperate  enemies  had  been 
known  to  suspend  a mortal  combat  in  order  to 
attack,  side  by  side,  the  soldiers  who  tried  to 
part  them.  Thus  the  functions  of  the  guard  were 
usually  limited  to  helping  the  wounded  or  carry- 
ing off  the  dead.  In  this  instance  the  archers 
had  but  the  latter  duty  to  accomplish,  and  they 

did  it  according  to  their  custom,  that  is  to  say, 

148 


A CHRONICLE 


149 


after  very  carefully  emptying  the  pockets  and 
dividing  the  garments  of  the  unlucky  Com- 
minges. 

“ My  advice  to  you,  my  dear  friend,”  said 
Seville,  turning  to  Mergy,  “is  to  have  yourself 
taken  as  quietly  as  possible  to  Master  Ambrose 
Pare,  who  is  a precious  man  for  sewing  you 
up  a wound  or  putting  a broken  limb  to  rights. 
Though  he  is  as  rank  a heretic  as  Calvin  him- 
self, he  is  in  such  repute  that  the  hottest  Catholics 
resort  to  him.  Up  to  this  time  nobody  but  the 
Marchioness  de  Boissieres  has  faced  death 
bravely  rather  than  owe  life  to  a Huguenot,  for 
which  reason  I will  wager  ten  pistoles  that  she 
is  in  Paradise.” 

“ The  wound  is  nothing,”  said  George;  “ it 
will  be  healed  in  three  days.  But  Comminges  has 
relations  at  Paris,  and  I fear  they  may  take  his 
death  a little  too  seriously.” 

“ Ah,  yes;  there  is  a mother,  who  will  think 
herself  obliged  by  decency  to  prosecute  our 
friend.  But  there!  get  M.  de  Chatillon  to  beg 
his  pardon,  and  the  King  will  grant  it  at  once. 
He  is  as  wax  in  the  Admiral’s  hands.” 

“ If  it  may  be  so,”  said  Mergy  in  a feeble 
voice,  “ I should  prefer  that  the  Admiral  knew 
nothing  at  all  about  the  matter.” 

“ Why?  do  you  think  the  old  greybeard  will 


150  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


be  vexed  to  hear  what  short  work  a Protestant 
has  made  of  a Catholic?  ” 

But  Mergy  only  answered  by  a deep  sigh. 

“ Comminges  was  too  well  known  at  Court 
for  his  death  not  to  make  some  noise,”  said  the 
captain.  “ But  you  did  your  duty  like  a gentle- 
man, and  nothing  but  honour  can  redound  to  you 
from  the  whole  thing.  It  is  long  since  I paid 
old  Chatillon  a visit,  and  this  will  be  an  oppor- 
tunity of  renewing  our  acquaintance.” 

“ As  it  is  never  pleasant  to  find  oneself 
clapped  under  the  law’s  bolts  and  bars,  even  for 
an  hour  or  two,”  continued  Beville,  “ I will  be- 
stow your  brother  in  a house  where  they  will 
not  think  of  looking  for  him.  He  can  be  quite 
quiet  there  till  his  business  is  settled;  for  as  a 
heretic  they  could  perhaps  hardly  give  him  sanc- 
tuary in  a convent.” 

“ Thanks  for  your  offer,  sir,”  said  Mergy; 
“ but  I can  not  accept  it,  for  I might  compromise 
you  by  doing  so.” 

“Not  a whit,  not  a whit,  my  dear  fellow; 
and  if  you  did,  a man  must  stand  by  his  friends. 
The  house  where  I mean  to  lodge  you  belongs 
to  a cousin  of  mine  who  is  away  from  Paris  for 
the  time,  and  it  is  mine  to  do  what  I like  with. 
Indeed,  there  is  some  one  there  already  to  whom 
I have  given  a lodging,  and  who  will  look  after 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  151 


you : an  old  lady  who  is  very  obliging  to  us  youth, 
and  is  devoted  to  me.  She  knows  leechcraft, 
magic,  astronomy,  heaven  knows  what;  and  her 
most  convenient  talent  of  all  is  that  of  go- 
between.  Blast  me,  but  she  would  take  a love- 
letter  to  the  Queen  herself  if  I asked  her!  ” 

“ Well,  then,”  said  the  captain,  “ we  will  take 
him  there  as  soon  as  Master  Ambrose  has  given 
him  the  first  dressing.”  They  touched  the  right 
bank  as  he  spoke,  and  after  hoisting  Mergy  with 
some  trouble  on  a horse,  they  took  him  to  the 
famous  surgeon,  and  thence  to  a lonely  house 
in  the  Faubourg  Saint  Antoine.  Nor  did  they 
leave  him  till  night  saw  him  tucked  up  in  a com- 
fortable bed,  and  specially  recommended  to  the 
old  woman’s  care. 

When  you  have  killed  a man,  and  when  this 
man  is  the  first  that  you  have  killed,  you  are 
haunted  for  some  time,  and  especially  at  night- 
fall, by  the  memory  and  the  look  of  the  last 
struggle  that  ushered  in  his  death.  The  mind  is 
so  full  of  gloomy  thoughts,  that  it  is  hard  to 
take  part  even  in  the  most  trivial  conversation; 
all  talk  wearies  and  annoys;  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  solitude  is  dreaded  because  it  strengthens 
the  oppression  of  fancy.  Despite  the  frequent 
visits  of  Beville  and  the  captain,  Mergy  spent  the 
days  immediately  succeeding  his  duel  in  the 


152  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


deepest  sadness.  A sharp  touch  of  fever, 
brought  on  by  his  wound,  kept  him  sleepless  at 
night,  and  this  was  his  worst  time.  Only  the  no- 
tion that  Madame  de  Turgis  thought  of  him  and 
had  admired  his  courage  consoled  him  a little, 
but  did  not  restore  him  to  calm. 

One  night,  oppressed  by  the  stifling  heat  (for 
it  was  the  month  of  July),  he  took  a fancy  to 
leave  his  room,  in  order  to  walk  and  breathe  the 
air  in  a garden,  full  of  trees,  which  surrounded 
the  house.  He  threw  a cloak  over  his  shoulders, 
and  was  about  to  go  forth,  when  he  found  that 
his  chamber  door  was  locked  on  the  outside.  It 
could  only  be,  he  thought,  a slip  of  his  old 
nurse,  and  as  she  slept  at  a distance,  and  must 
probably  be  fast  asleep,  he  thought  it  quite  use- 
less to  call  her;  besides,  his  window  was  near  the 
ground,  which  was  soft  below,  having  been  re- 
cently dug.  In  a moment  he  had  dropped  into 
the  garden.  The  night  was  dark;  not  a star 
blinked;  and  scanty  puffs  of  wind  now  and  then, 
and  as  though  with  difficulty,  crossed  the  hot  and 
heavy  atmosphere.  It  was  about  two  o’clock  in 
the  morning,  and  profound  stillness  reigned 
around  him. 

Mergy  paced  for  some  time,  absorbed  in 
thoughts,  which  were  interrupted  by  a knock  at 
the  street  gate.  It  was  a faint,  and,  as  it  were. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  153 


mysterious  stroke  of  the  knocker,  whosoever 
struck  it  seeming  assured  that  some  one  would  be 
ready  to  open.  A visitor  at  a lonely  house  and 
at  such  an  hour  was  something  surprising,  and 
Mergy  kept  himself  motionless  in  a dark  corner 
of  the  garden,  whence  he  could  see  everything 
without  being  seen.  A woman,  who  could  not  be 
other  than  his  old  nurse,  came  out  of  the  house 
at  once  with  a dark  lantern  in  her  hand;  she 
opened  the  gate  and  there  entered  some  one 
wrapped  completely  in  a large  black  hooded 
mantle. 

Bernard’s  curiosity  was  in  a state  of  lively  ex- 
citement. The  stature,  and,  so  far  as  he  could 
judge,  the  garments,  of  the  newcomer  indicated 
the  other  sex;  and  the  old  woman  greeted  her 
visitor  with  every  mark  of  respect,  while  Black- 
mantle  scarcely  bowed  her  head  in  return.  To 
make  amends  she  put  something  into  the  old 
woman’s  hand,  which  seemed  to  be  received  with 
pleasure,  while  the  sharp  sound  as  of  metal  drop- 
ping, and  the  eagerness  with  which  the  hag 
stooped  and  looked  about  on  the  ground,  con- 
vinced Mergy  that  she  had  had  money  given  to 
her.  The  two  women  then  walked  towards  the 
garden,  the  crone  going  first  and  hiding  her  lan- 
tern. At  the  garden’s  end  there  was  a kind  of 
arbour  formed  by  limes,  which  were  planted  in 


154  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 

a circle,  and  joined  together  by  a very  thick 
hedge  nearly  as  close  as  a wall.  Two  gates  or 
entries  led  into  this  green  retreat,  in  the  centre 
of  which  was  a small  stone  table.  Into  this  the 
old  woman  and  the  veiled  visitor  entered.  Mergy, 
holding  his  breath,  and  following  them  with 
stealthy  step,  placed  himself  behind  the  hedge, 
so  that  he  could  hear  perfectly,  and  could  see 
as  well  as  the  scanty  light  illuminating  the  scene 
permitted. 

The  old  woman  began  by  lighting  something, 
which  burnt  up  at  once,  in  a tripod  placed  on  the 
middle  of  the  table,  and  gave  a pale  bluish  light, 
like  that  of  salt  and  spirits  of  wine  mingled 
together.  She  forthwith  extinguished  or  cov- 
ered up  her  lantern,  so  that  by  the  flickering  light 
of  the  tripod  Mergy  would  have  had  difficulty 
in  recognising  the  stranger’s  features,  even  if 
they  had  not  been  hidden  by  veil  and  hood.  As 
for  the  old  woman,  it  was  easy  to  recognise  her 
stature  and  figure;  but  he  noticed  that  her  face 
was  smeared  with  some  dark  dye  which  made  her, 
under  her  white  coif,  look  like  a bronze  statue. 
The  table  was  covered  with  singular  objects  which 
he  could  hardly  distinguish.  They  seemed  ar- 
ranged in  regular  though  eccentric  order;  and 
he  thought  he  saw  amongst  them  fruit,  pieces  of 
bone,  and  some  fragments  of  blood-stained  linen. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  155 


Above  these  soiled  rags  stood  a little  figure  of 
a man,  of  wax,  as  it  seemed,  and  at  most  a foot 
high. 

“ Well,  Camilla,”  said  the  veiled  lady  in  a 
low  voice  which  made  Mergy  start,  “ you  say  he 
is  better?  ” 

“ A little  better,  madame,”  said  the  hag, 
“ thanks  to  our  art.  Still,  with  these  scraps  and 
the  little  blood  there  is  on  the  bandages,  it  has 
been  difficult  for  me  to  do  much.” 

“ And  what  says  Master  Ambrose  Pare?  ” 

“ He,  the  dunce!  What  does  it  matter  what 
he  says?  I give  you  my  word  that  the  wound  is 
deep,  dangerous,  and  terrible,  and  that  it  can  only 
be  cured  by  the  rules  of  magic  sympathy.  But 
it  is  needful  to  do  frequent  sacrifice  to  the  spirits 

of  earth  and  air;  and  for  sacrifice ” 

The  lady  understood  at  once. 

“ If  he  is  cured,”  she  said,  “ you  shall  have 
double  what  I have  just  given  you.” 

“ Be  of  good  hope,  and  rely  on  me.” 

“ Ah,  Camilla!  but  if  he  should  die?  ” 

“ Calm  yourself!  The  spirits  are  favourable; 
the  stars  protect  us;  and  our  last  sacrifice  of  the 
black  ram  has  propitiated  The  Other” 

“ I bring  you  something  that  has  cost  me 
much  pains  to  procure.  I bought  it  of  one  of 
the  archers  who  stripped  the  corpse.” 


156  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


She  drew  an  object  from  beneath  her  cloak, 
and  Mergy  caught  the  glitter  of  a sword-blade. 
The  hag  took  it,  and  held  it  close  to  the  light  for 
examination. 

“ Thank  heaven!  there  is  blood  and  rust  on 
the  blade ! Yes ! his  blood  is  as  that  of  the  basilisk 
of  Cathay — it  leaves  an  ineradicable  trace  on  the 
steel.” 

She  looked  carefully  at  the  blade;  and  it  was 
clear  that  the  veiled  lady  felt  more  than  ordinary 
emotion. 

“ See,  Camilla!  how  near  the  blood  is  to  the 
hilt.  The  blow  may  be  mortal.” 

“ That  blood  is  not  heart’s  blood:  he  will 
recover.” 

“ He  will  recover?  ” 

“Yes;  but  he  will  pay  for  his  recovery  by 
catching  an  incurable  disease.” 

“ What  disease?  ” 

“ Love.” 

“ Ah,  Camilla!  are  you  speaking  the  truth?  ” 

“When  did  I ever  fail  to  speak  the  truth? 
When  did  my  predictions  fail  in  accomplishment? 
Did  I not  tell  you  that  he  would  be  victorious  in 
the  fight?  Did  I not  inform  you  that  the  spirits 
would  fight  on  his  side?  Did  I not  bury,  on  the 
very  spot  where  the  duel  was  to  take  place,  a 
black  hen  and  a sword  blessed  by  the  priest?  ” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  157 


“ It  is  true.” 

“ Did  you  not  yourself  drive  a dagger  into 
the  heart  of  an  image  of  his  adversary,  thus 
directing  the  blows  of  him  in  whose  behalf  I 
spent  my  skill?  ” 

“ Yes,  Camilla,  I did  pierce  the  heart  of 
Comminges’s  image.  But  they  say  that  he  died 
of  a wound  in  the  head.” 

“ Of  course,  the  steel  struck  his  head;  but 
did  he  not  die  because  the  blood  stopped  at  his 
heart?  ” 

The  veiled  lady  seemed  crushed  by  the  weight 
of  this  argument,  and  she  was  silent.  Mean- 
while the  hag  moistened  the  sword-blade  with  oil 
and  balsam,  and  wrapped  it  with  the  greatest 
care  in  bandages. 

“ See,  madame,”  she  said,  “ this  scorpion’s  oil 
with  which  I rub  the  sword  is  directed  by  virtue 
of  sympathy  into  the  young  man’s  wound.  He 
feels  the  effect  of  this  African  balsam  just  as  if 
I poured  it  on  his  hurt;  and  if  I took  a fancy 
to  let  the  sword-point  grow  red  hot  in  the  fire, 
our  poor  patient  would  suffer  as  much  as  though 
he  were  burnt  alive.” 

“ Oh ! think  not  of  such  a thing.” 

“ One  evening  I sat  by  the  hearth  busily  rub- 
bing a sword  with  balsam  to  cure  a young  gentle- 
man in  whose  head  that  sword  had  made  two 


158  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


fearful  wounds.  I fell  asleep  at  my  task,  when 
suddenly  the  sick  man’s  lackey  knocked  at  my 
door  to  tell  me  that  his  master  was  suffering  the 
agonies  of  death,  and  that  when  he  had  left  him 
he  felt  as  if  stretched  on  blazing  coals.  Do  you 
know  what  had  happened?  I had  carelessly  let 
the  sword  slip,  and  the  blade  was  at  the  moment 
on  the  embers.  I snatched  it  off,  and  told  the 
lackey  that  he  would  at  his  return  find  his  mas- 
ter fully  relieved.  I plunged  the  sword  at  once 
in  iced  water,  with  a mixture  of  certain  drugs,  and 
went  to  see  my  patient.  As  I entered  he  cried  to 
me,  ‘ Ah ! my  good  Camilla,  what  sweet  relief  I 
feel  now!  It  seems  as  though  I were  in  a bath 
of  cool  water,  while  just  now  I might  have  been 
St.  Laurence  on  his  gridiron.’  ” 

She  finished  dressing  the  sword,  and  said  with 
a satisfied  air,  “ ’Tis  well:  now  I am  sure  of  his 
cure,  and  you  may  give  your  attention  to  the  last 
ceremony.”  She  threw  some  pinches  of  sweet- 
smelling powder  on  the  flame,  and  muttered 
outlandish  words,  crossing  herself  continually. 
Then  the  lady  took  the  waxen  image  with  a 
trembling  hand,  and  holding  it  above  the  tripod 
she  pronounced  these  words  in  a voice  full  of 
passion:  “ As  this  wax  softens  and  burns  in  the 
tripod  flame ; so,  O Bernard  Mergy!  may  thy 
heart  grow  soft  and  burn  for  love  of  me! " 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  159 


“ Good : now  here  is  a green  wax  candle 
moulded  at  midnight  in  accordance  with  the  rules 
of  art.  Light  it  to-morrow  before  the  Virgin’s 
altar.” 

“ I will ; but  in  spite  of  all  your  promises  I 
am  terribly  anxious.  I dreamt  yesterday  that  he 
was  dead.” 

“ Were  you  sleeping  on  your  right  side  or 
your  left?  ” 

“ On but  which  side  do  true  dreams 

come?  ” 

“ Tell  me  first  on  which  side  you  sleep. 
I see  that  you  wish  to  abuse  and  deceive  your- 
self.” 

“ I always  sleep  on  my  right  side.” 

“ Then  be  composed.  Your  dream  announces 
nothing  but  good  luck.” 

“ God  grant  it!  But  I saw  him  pale,  bleed- 
ing, and  wrapped  in  his  shroud ” 

As  she  spoke,  she  turned  her  head  and  saw 
Mergy  standing  at  one  of  the  arbour  doors.  Her 
astonishment  made  her  shriek  so  piercingly  that 
Mergy  himself  was  confounded.  The  hag,  either 
purposely  or  by  accident,  upset  the  tripod,  and 
at  once  there  rose  to  the  summit  of  the  limes  a 
flash  of  brilliant  light  that  blinded  him  for  a 
moment  or  two,  during  which  the  two  women 
escaped,  without  losing  an  instant,  through  the 


160  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


opposite  entrance.  As  soon  as  Mergy  could  dis- 
cern the  opening  in  the  hedge  he  tried  to  follow 
them ; but  at  his  first  movement  he  scarcely  saved 
himself  from  a fall,  something  having  got  be- 
tween his  legs.  This  he  recognised  as  the  sword 
to  which  he  owed  his  cure.  He  lost  some  further 
time  in  getting  clear  of  it  and  exploring  the  way, 
and  when,  reaching  a wide  straight  alley,  he 
thought  that  there  could  be  no  more  obstacles  to 
his  catching  the  fugitives,  he  heard  the  street  gate 
shut.  They  were  out  of  reach. 

A little  vexed  at  having  let  so  fair  a prey 
slip  through  his  fingers,  he  groped  his  way  back 
to  his  chamber,  and  threw  himself  on  the  bed. 
All  doleful  thoughts  were  banished  from  his 
mind,  and  both  remorse,  if  he  had  had  any,  and 
the  anxiety  which  his  condition  had  caused  him, 
disappeared  as  if  by  enchantment.  He  thought 
of  nothing  but  the  happiness  of  loving  and  being 
loved  by  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Paris:  for 
he  could  not  doubt  that  the  veiled  lady  was 
Madame  de  Turgis.  A little  after  sunrise  he  fell 
asleep;  and  only  woke  when  it  had  been  broad 
day  for  several  hours.  Upon  his  pillow  he  found 
a sealed  billet  which  had  been  placed  there,  he 
knew  not  how;  and  opening  it,  he  read  these 
words:  “ Sir  knight,  a lady’s  honour  depends  on 
your  discretion.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  161 


A few  moments  afterwards  the  old  woman 
came  in  to  bring  him  some  broth.  She  wore  for 
the  day,  contrary  to  her  custom,  a rosary  of  large 
beads,  hung  to  her  girdle.  Her  skin,  carefully 
washed,  showed  no  longer  like  bronze,  but  like 
smoked  parchment,  and  she  walked  with  slow 
steps  and  downcast  eyes,  like  a person  who 
fears  to  be  troubled  in  her  commerce  with  the 
skies  by  the  sight  of  earthly  things. 

Mergy  thought  that,  for  the  more  deserving 
practice  of  the  virtue  recommended  to  him  in  the 
mysterious  note,  he  had  better  first  acquire  a 
thorough  knowledge  as  to  what  he  was  to  keep 
secret  from  the  world.  So  holding  the  broth  in 
his  hand,  and  giving  old  Martha  no  time  to  reach 
the  door,  he  said,  “ You  never  told  me  that  your 
name  was  Camilla?  ” 

“ Camilla?  My  name  is  Martha,  good  gen- 
tleman— Martha  Micheli,”  said  the  old  woman, 
affecting  great  surprise  at  his  question. 

“ Very  well;  so  be  it.  You  are  to  be  called 
Martha  by  men;  but  spirits  know  you  under  the 
name  of  Camilla.” 

“ Spirits?  Sweet  Jesus!  What  do  you 
mean?  ” and  she  crossed  herself  all  over. 

“ Come;  no  tricks  with  me.  I will  tell  no 
one,  and  all  this  is  between  ourselves.  Who  is 
the  lady  who  takes  such  interest  in  my  health?  ” 


162  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ The  lady  who ? ” 

“ Now,  do  not  repeat  my  words,  but  speak 
frankly.  On  the  faith  of  a gentleman  I will 
not  betray  you.” 

“ Truly,  good  gentleman,  I know  not  what 
you  would  say.” 

Mergy  could  not  help  a laugh  as  he  saw  her 
feign  astonishment,  and  lay  her  hand  on  her 
heart.  He  took  a piece  of  gold  from  the  purse 
that  hung  at  his  bed-head  and  offered  it  to  the 
old  woman. 

“ Come,  good  Camilla,  you  take  so  much  care 
of  me,  and  give  yourself  so  much  trouble  in  rub- 
bing swords  with  scorpion’s  balm,  all  for  the  sake 
of  curing  me,  that  really  I ought  to  have  made 
you  a present  long  ago.” 

“Alas!  gentleman,  indeed,  indeed,  I under- 
stand no  word  of  what  you  say.” 

“ Confusion!  Martha,  or  Camilla,  if  you  like, 
don’t  make  me  angry,  but  answer.  Who  is  the 
lady  for  whom  you  performed  all  that  pretty 
witchcraft  last  night?  ” 

“ Oh!  gracious  Saviour!  he  is  getting  angry! 
Can  he  be  delirious?  ” 

Mergy,  in  a rage,  seized  his  pillow  and  flung 
it  at  her  head.  The  old  lady  replaced  it  with 
much  humility  on  the  bed,  picked  up  the  gold 
crown  from  the  floor  where  it  had  fallen,  and, 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  163 


as  the  captain  entered  at  the  same  moment,  she 
was  relieved  of  her  fear  of  a cross-examina- 
tion, which  might  have  ended  awkwardly  for 
her. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


SLANDER 

“ King  Henry  IV,  Thou  dost  belie  him , Percy;  thou  dost  belie 
him.” — Shakespeare,  King  Henry  IV,  5 

GEORGE  had  gone  to  see  the  Admiral 
that  same  morning,  in  order  to  inform 
him  of  his  brother’s  misadventure,  and 
had  told  the  whole  story  in  a few  words. 

The  Admiral,  as  he  listened,  crunched  the 
toothpick  which  he  had  in  his  mouth — a sure 
sign  of  ill-temper  with  him. 

“ I knew  this  matter  already,”  said  he;  “ and 
I am  surprised  that  you  should  speak  of  it,  for 
it  is  notorious  enough.” 

“ If  I trouble  you,  my  Lord  Admiral,  it  is 
because  I know  the  interest  you  condescend  to 
take  in  our  family,  and  I venture  to  hope  that 
you  will  graciously  solicit  the  King’s  clemency 
for  my  brother.  Your  credit  with  his  Maj- 
esty  ” 

“ My  credit,  if  I have  any,”  broke  in  the 
Admiral  sharply,  “ my  credit  depends  upon  the 
fact  that  I never  put  any  but  just  demands  be- 

164 


A CHRONICLE 


165 


fore  his  Majesty.”  And  as  he  spoke  the  last 
word  he  lifted  his  hat  reverentially. 

“ The  circumstance  which  makes  it  neces- 
sary for  my  brother  to  have  recourse  to  your 
goodness  is  unfortunately  one  but  too  common 
in  these  days.  Last  year  the  King  signed  more 
than  fifteen  hundred  writs  of  pardon,  and  Ber- 
nard’s adversary  himself  has  repeatedly  enjoyed 
the  protection  which  these  writs  give.” 

‘‘Your  brother  was  the  aggressor;  though, 
perhaps,  and  I would  it  were  true  ” (he  looked 
steadily  at  George  as  he  spoke),  “he  has  but 
followed  pernicious  advice.” 

“ I did  my  best  to  prevent  the  fatal  results 
of  this  quarrel;  but  you  know  that  M.  de  Com- 
minges  was  of  a temper  to  give  no  satisfaction 
to  any  one  but  at  point  of  sword.  The  honour 

of  a gentleman  and  the  opinion  of  ladies ” 

“ Then  that  is  how  you  talk  to  the  young 
man?  ” said  the  Admiral.  “ Perhaps  you  hope 
to  make  a r affine  of  him?  How  would  his  father 
mourn  if  he  knew  in  what  manner  his  son  despises 
his  counsel!  Good  God!  ’tis  but  two  years  since 
our  civil  wars  were  quenched,  and  men  have  al- 
ready forgotten  the  oceans  of  blood  shed  in  them. 
Their  thirst  is  not  yet  slaked.  Every  day  some 
Frenchmen  must  cut  other  Frenchmen’s 
throats.” 


166  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ If  I had  known,  sir,  that  my  petition  was 

likely  to  displease  you ” 

“ Listen  to  me,  M.  de  Mergy.  I might,  per- 
haps, do  violence  to  my  sentiments  as  a Chris- 
tian, and  excuse  your  brother’s  action  in  giving 
the  challenge.  But  according  to  public  re- 
port his  conduct  in  the  duel  which  followed  was 
not ” 

“What  mean  you,  Admiral?” 

“ That  the  fight  was  not  conducted  in  a loyal 
manner  and  according  to  the  custom  of  French 
gentlemen.” 

“ Who  has  dared  to  spread  so  infamous  a 
slander?  ” cried  George,  his  eyes  flashing  with 
rage. 

“ Be  calm.  You  can  send  no  challenge  on 
this  score,  for  as  yet  we  do  not  fight  with  wom- 
en. Comminges’s  mother  has  given  the  King 
details  which  do  not  reflect  credit  on  your  brother, 
and  which  may,  perhaps,  explain  how  so  redoubt- 
able a swordsman  succumbed  thus  easily  to  the 
blows  of  a boy  scarcely  out  of  pagehood.” 

“ A mother’s  sorrow  is  deep  and  sacred,”  said 
George.  “Is  it  surprising  that  she  can  not  see 
the  truth  through  eyes  still  bathed  in  tears?  I 
can  not  but  hope,  sir,  that  you  will  abstain  from 
condemning  my  brother  on  the  faith  of  Madame 
de  Comminges’s  story.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  167 


Coligny  seemed  moved,  and  his  voice  lost 
something  of  its  sharply  ironical  tone. 

“Yet  you  can  not  deny  that  Beville,  Com- 
minges’s  second,  is  your  own  intimate  friend?  ” 

“ I have  indeed  known  him  long,  and  owe 
him  something.  But  Comminges  was  as  intimate 
with  him  as  I,  and  Comminges  himself  chose  him 
for  his  second.  Besides,  Beville’s  gallantry  and 
honour  put  him  above  all  suspicion  of  disloyal 
conduct.” 

The  Admiral  pursed  his  mouth  in  deep  dis- 
dain. 

“The  honour  of  Beville!”  he  repeated, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  “ The  honour  of  an 
Atheist!  of  a man  steeped  in  debauchery!  ” 

“Yes!”  cried  the  captain,  laying  stress  on 
his  words.  “Beville  is  a man  of  honour.  But 
why  all  this  talk?  Was  I not  myself  present  at 
this  duel?  Is  it  for  you,  Sir  Admiral,  to  ques- 
tion the  honour  of  our  house  and  accuse  us  of 
assassination?  ” 

There  was  a touch  of  menace  in  his  tone; 
but  Coligny  either  did  not  understand,  or  de- 
spised, the  allusion  to  the  murder  of  Duke 
Francis  of  Guise,  which  Catholics  in  their 
hatred  had  attributed  to  himself.  His  features 
even  relapsed  into  unruffled  calm. 

“ M.  de  Mergy,”  said  he  in  a cold  and  con- 


168  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 

temptuous  tone,  4 4 a man  who  has  denied  his 
faith  has  lost  the  right  to  talk  of  his  honour, 
for  none  would  believe  in  it.” 

The  captain’s  face  first  flushed  purple,  and 
then  turned  deadly  pale.  He  fell  back  a step, 
as  though  to  avoid  the  temptation  of  striking 
the  old  man. 

“ Sir!”  he  cried,  44 your  age  and  your  rank 
allow  you  to  insult  with  impunity  the  most  pre- 
cious possession  of  a poor  gentleman.  But  I 
beg  of  you  to  bid  one  of  your  followers,  or  more 
than  one,  to  endorse  the  words  which  you  have 
spoken.  I swear,  by  God,  that  they  shall  swal- 
low those  words  till  they  choke.” 

44  That  may  be  a practice  with  the  gentry 
called  raffines . I follow  not  their  manners,  and 
I discard  those  of  my  gentlemen  who  imitate 
them.” 

And  he  turned  his  back  on  George  as  he 
spoke.  The  captain,  with  fury  in  his  heart,  left 
the  Hotel  de  Chatillon,  sprang  on  his  horse,  and, 
as  if  to  relieve  his  wrath,  made  the  poor  animal 
gallop  at  full  speed  by  digging  his  spurs  into 
his  sides.  In  his  headlong  career  he  just  escaped 
riding  down  no  small  number  of  peaceable 
passers-by;  and  it  may  be  considered  lucky  that 
not  a single  specimen  of  the  raffines  themselves 
met  him,  for  in  the  temper  in  which  he  was  he 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  169 


would  certainly  have  lost  no  occasion  of  draw- 
ing sword. 

When  he  had  got  as  far  as  Vincennes  his 
heated  blood  began  to  cool.  He  turned  bridle, 
and  brought  his  horse,  drenched  in  sweat  and 
blood,  back  towards  Paris.  “ Poor  friend!  ” said 
he,  smiling  bitterly,  “ I am  punishing  you  for  his 
insult  to  myself.”  And  patting  the  innocent 
victim’s  neck,  he  rode  slowly  back  to  his 
brother’s  house,  where,  omitting  all  the  details 
of  the  conversation,  he  simply  told  Mergy  that 
the  Admiral  refused  to  interfere. 

But  a few  minutes  afterwards  Beville  came 
in,  and,  throwing  himself  forthwith  on  Mergy’s 
neck,  said,  “ Congratulations,  my  dear  fellow! 
Here  is  your  pardon,  which  you  owe  to  the 
Queen’s  intercession.” 

Mergy  was  less  surprised  than  his  brother, 
and  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  ascribed  this  favour 
to  the  veiled  lady,  that  is  to  say,  to  Madame  de 
Turgis. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


THE  ASSIGNATION 

“Madame  to  this  saloon  will  shortly  walk, 

And  begs  the  favour  of  a moment’s  talk.” 

Moliere,  Tartufe. 

MERGY  resumed  his  share  of  his 
brother’s  apartments;  he  paid  a visit 
of  thanks  to  the  Queen-Mother,  and 
reappeared  at  Court.  But  he  had  scarcely  set 
foot  in  the  Louvre  when  he  perceived  that  he  had 
in  some  sort  fallen  heir  to  the  consideration 
which  Comminges  had  enjoyed.  People  whom 
he  only  knew  by  sight  bowed  to  him  with  an  air 
of  humble  attempt  at  intimacy;  men,  as  they 
spoke  to  him,  hid  their  envy  but  ill  under  a 
markedly  polite  outside,  and  the  ladies’  eyes 
rained  provocations  upon  him,  for  at  that  time 
to  obtain  the  reputation  of  a successful  duellist 
was  the  surest  road  to  their  hearts.  To  have 
killed  three  or  four  men  in  single  combat  sup- 
plied the  want  of  good  looks,  of  wealth,  and 
of  wit.  In  short,  as  our  hero  showed  himself 
in  the  gallery  of  the  Louvre,  he  heard  whispered 

170 


A CHRONICLE 


171 


remarks  all  round  him.  “ There  is  young 
Mergy,  who  killed  Comminges ! ” “ How  young 
he  is!”  “What  a good  figure!”  “What  an 
air!  ” “ What  a well-curled  moustache!  ” “ Is 

it  known  who  his  mistress  is?  ” 

But  Mergy  looked  in  vain  through  the  crowd 
for  the  blue  eyes  and  black  eyebrows  of  Madame 
de  Turgis.  He  even  made  a visit  at  her  house; 
but  he  learnt  that  shortly  after  Comminges’s 
death  she  had  left  for  one  of  her  estates,  which 
was  some  twenty  leagues  from  Paris.  If  ill 
tongues  were  to  be  believed,  her  sorrow  at  the 
death  of  her  lover  had  forced  her  to  seek  a re- 
treat where  she  might  nurse  her  grief  undis- 
turbed. 

One  morning,  while  the  captain,  stretched  on 
a sofa,  was  reading  as  he  waited  for  breakfast 
“ The  Very  Horrific  Life  of  Pantagruel,”  and 
while  his  brother  was  taking  a lesson  on  the 
guitar  from  Signor  Uberto  Vinibella,  a lackey 
came  to  tell  Bernard  that  an  old  woman,  very 
decently  dressed,  was  waiting  for  him  in  the 
lower  hall,  and  that  she  had  asked  for  an  inter- 
view with  an  air  of  mystery.  He  went  down 
at  once,  and  received  from  the  sunburnt  hands 
of  a dame  who  was  neither  Martha  nor  Camilla, 
a letter  breathing  sweet  perfumes.  It  was 
fastened  with  a golden  thread  and  a large  seal 


172  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


of  green  wax,  whereon,  instead  of  arms,  nothing 
was  seen  but  a cupid  with  finger  on  lip,  and  the 
Spanish  motto  “ Callao."  * He  opened  it,  and 
found  only  one  line  in  the  same  language,  which 
he  construed  with  some  difficulty : “ Esta  noche > 
una  dama  espera  a V. 

“ Who  gave  you  this  letter?  ” said  he  to  the 
old  woman. 

“ A lady." 

“ Her  name?  " 

“I  know  not;  she  says  she  is  a Spaniard." 

“ How  does  she  know  me? " 

The  crone  shrugged  her  shoulders.  “ Your 
reputation  for  gallantry  has  brought  this  ugly 
affair  on  you,"  she  said  sarcastically.  “ But  an- 
swer me,  will  you  come?  " 

“ Where  am  I to  go?  " 

“ Be  this  evening,  at  half -past  eight  o’clock, 
in  the  church  of  St.  Germain  l’Auxerrois,  to- 
wards the  left  side  of  the  nave." 

“ And  shall  I see  this  lady  at  church?  "’ 

“No;  some  one  will  be  there  to  conduct  you 
to  her.  But  be  discreet,  and  come  alone." 

“ Of  course." 

“ You  promise? " 

“ I pledge  you  my  word." 

* “ Be  silent.” 

t “ A lady  expects  you  this  evening.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  173 


“ Farewell,  then;  and  follow  me  not.” 

She  curtseyed  low,  and  departed. 

“ Well,  what  did  my  lady  go-between  want 
with  you?  ” asked  the  captain,  when  his  brother 
had  gone  upstairs  and  the  music-master  had 
taken  his  leave. 

“ Oh,  nothing,”  said  Mergy  carelessly,  and 
examining  attentively  the  Madonna  of  which 
mention  has  been  made. 

“ Come,  no  secrets  with  me.  Must  I escort 
you  to  an  assignation?  Shall  I mount  guard  in 
the  street,  and  keep  off  rivals  with  the  flat  of  my 
sword?  ” 

“ Nothing  of  the  kind,  I tell  you.” 

“ Oh,  just  as  you  like.  Keep  your  counsel  if 
you  please;  but  I will  bet  that  you  are  at  least 
as  much  dying  to  tell  as  I am  to  know.” 

Mergy,  with  an  absent  air,  twitched  the 
strings  of  his  guitar. 

“ By  the  way,  George,”  said  he,  “ I shall  not 
be  able  to  go  and  sup  to-night  with  M.  de  Vau- 
dreuil.” 

“ Oho!  it  is  for  to-night,  then?  Is  she  pretty? 
Is  she  a Court  lady,  or  a citizen’s  wife,  or  a 
trader’s?  ” 

“ Really  I do  not  know.  I am  to  be  intro- 
duced to  a lady  who  is  not  of  this  country;  but 
who  it  is  I know  not.” 


174.  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ But  you  know  at  least  where  the  meeting- 
place  is?  ” 

Bernard  showed  him  the  note,  and  repeated 
what  the  crone  had  said. 

“It  is  a feigned  hand,”  said  the  captain; 
“ and  I do  not  know  what  to  think  of  all  these 
precautions.” 

“ She  must  be  some  great  lady,  George.” 

“How  like  these  youngsters  that  is!  To 
fancy,  on  the  least  excuse,  that  queens  and  prin- 
cesses are  going  to  fling  themselves  at  their 
heads!  ” 

“ But  smell  the  perfume  which  the  letter 
breathes.” 

“ What  on  earth  does  that  prove?  ” 

The  captain’s  brow  suddenly  darkened  as  a 
sinister  thought  occurred  to  his  mind. 

“ The  Comminges  are  not  a forgiving  fam- 
ily,” said  he;  “and  this  letter  may  be  only  a 
trick  of  theirs  to  decoy  you  into  some  out-of-the- 
way  corner,  where  they  will  make  you  pay  dear 
for  the  dagger-thrust  which  gave  them  their  in- 
heritance.” 

“ A pretty  notion!  ” 

“ It  would  not  be  the  first  time  that  Love 
has  been  made  to  do  Revenge’s  work.  You  have 
read  your  Bible:  remember  Samson  and  the 
traitress  Delilah.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  175 


“ I should  be  a coward  indeed  if  such  an 
improbable  guess  made  me  balk  a meeting 
which  may  be  so  charming.  A Spanish  lady!” 
“ At  any  rate,  go  well  armed.  If  you  like, 
you  can  have  the  two  lackeys.” 

“ Fie  on  you!  What!  call  the  whole  town  to 
witness  my  good  fortune?  ” 

“ It  is  quite  usual  now,”  said  George.  “ I 
have  often  seen  my  good  friend  D’Ardelay  set- 
ting out  to  visit  his  lady-love  with  a mail  shirt  on 
his  back,  a pair  of  pistols  in  his  belt,  and  four 
soldiers  of  his  company  marching  behind  him, 
each  man  with  a loaded  petronel.  You  don’t 
know  Paris  yet,  my  friend;  and  you  may  take 
my  word  for  it,  too  much  forethought  never 
does  harm.  You  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  take 
your  mail  shirt  off  when  it  is  in  the  way.” 

“ I do  not  feel  the  least  anxiety.  If  Com- 
minges’s  relations  had  a grudge  against  me,  they 
could  have  attacked  me  any  night  in  the  streets.” 
“ Well,  then,  I will  let  you  go;  but  only  on 
condition  that  you  take  your  pistols.” 

“ As  you  like;  but  I shall  be  laughed  at  for 
doing  it.” 

“Nor  is  that  all.  You  must  make  a good 
dinner,  and  eat  two  partridges  and  plenty  of 
cock’s-comb  pasty,  that  you  may  do  credit  to 
the  race  of  Mergy  to-night.” 


176  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


Bernard  retired  to  his  room,  where  he  spent 
at  least  four  hours  in  combing  and  curling  his 
hair,  in  perfuming  himself,  and  finally  in  ar- 
ranging eloquent  discourse  intended  for  the 
benefit  of  the  fair  unknown. 

I may  leave  my  readers  to  guess  whether  he 
was  punctual  at  the  meeting-place  or  not.  He 
had  paced  the  church  for  full  half  an  hour,  and 
had  already  thrice  counted  the  candles,  the  pil- 
lars, and  the  votive  offerings,  when  an  old 
woman  carefully  enveloped  in  a brown  cloak, 
took  his  hand,  and,  without  speaking  a word, 
led  him  into  the  street.  She  conducted  him,  still 
in  perfect  silence,  by  several  twists  and  turns 
into  a very  narrow  and  apparently  uninhabited 
alley.  At  the  very  end  of  it,  she  stopped  in 
front  of  a door — small,  arched,  and  very  low — 
which  she  opened  with  a key  drawn  from  her 
pocket.  She  led  the  way  in,  and  Mergy  fol- 
lowed, holding  her  cloak  to  guide  himself  through 
the  darkness.  Nor  had  he  sooner  entered  than 
he  heard  huge  bolts  drawn  behind  him.  His 
guide  then  warned  him  in  a whisper  that  he  was 
at  the  foot  of  a staircase,  and  that  there  twenty- 
seven  steps  to  mount.  The  stair  was  very  nar- 
row, and  the  worn  and  irregular  steps  more  than 
once  nearly  brought  him  down;  but  at  length, 
after  the  twenty-seventh  step  and  a small  land- 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  177 


ing  were  passed,  the  old  woman  opened  a door 
from  which  a flood  of  light  dazzled  Mergy’s 
eyes  for  the  moment.  Then  he  set  foot  in  an 
apartment  much  more  elegantly  furnished  than 
the  external  appearance  of  the  house  promised. 

The  walls  were  covered  with  flowered  tapes-  - 
try,  a little  faded,  perhaps,  but  still  in  perfectly 
good  condition.  In  the  midst  of  the  room  he 
saw  a table,  lighted  with  two  candles  of  rose- 
coloured  wax,  and  covered  with  various  kinds 
of  fruit  and  cakes,  together  with  glasses  and 
flasks  of  crystal;  the  latter  filled,  as  it  seemed, 
with  different  kinds  of  wine.  Two  large  chairs, 
placed  at  the  two  ends  of  the  table,  waited  ap- 
parently for  the  guests.  In  a recess,  half  closed 
by  silken  curtains,  was  a bed  of  very  ornate  de- 
sign, covered  with  crimson  satin,  while  more  than 
one  incense-burner  shed  a voluptuous  perfume 
over  the  apartment. 

The  crone  took  off  her  mantle;  and  Mergy, 
doffing  his  cloak,  at  once  recognised  the  mes- 
senger who  had  brought  him  the  letter. 

“ Saint  Mary!  ” cried  she,  as  he  saw  his  sword 
and  pistols,  “ do  you  think  you  have  got  to  hew 
down  giants?  There  are  no  sword-blows,  fair 
knight,  to  deal  here.” 

“ I hope  so;  but  it  may  be  that  some  brothers 
or  an  ill-tempered  husband  may  disturb  the  meet- 


178  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


ing;  and  in  that  case  here  is  something  to  keep 
them  quiet  with.” 

“ You  need  fear  nothing  of  that  kind  here. 
But  tell  me,  how  do  you  like  the  room?  ” 

“ It  is  a fair  chamber,  doubtless;  yet  should 
I grow  weary  of  it  if  I had  to  stay  here  alone.” 
“You  shall  have  company  anon.  But  mean- 
while you  must  promise  me  something.” 

“ What?  ” 

“If  you  are  a Catholic,  you  must  lay  your 
hand  on  this  crucifix,”  and  she  took  one  from  a 
cupboard ; “ if  you  are  a Huguenot,  you  must 
swear  by  Luther,  by  Calvin,  by  all  your  gods — 
in  short ” 

“ But  what  must  I swear?  ” said  he  smiling. 
“ You  must  swear  to  make  no  attempt  to 
find  out  who  is  the  lady  who  is  coming  here.” 

“ ’Tis  a hard  condition.” 

“ See,  now:  you  must  swear,  or  I shall  take 
you  back  into  the  street.” 

“ There,  then,  you  have  my  word  for  it,  and 
that  is  as  good  as  the  foolish  oaths  you  propose.” 
“ ’Tis  well.  Now  wait  patiently;  eat  and 
drink,  if  you  care  to  do  so;  and  without  delay 
you  shall  see  the  Spanish  lady  come.” 

She  took  her  mantle  and  went  out,  double- 
locking  the  door. 

Mergy  threwdiimself  into  a chair.  His  heart 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  179 


beat  violently;  and  he  felt  an  emotion  as  strong 
as  that  which  he  had  experienced  a few  days 
before,  when  about  to  meet  his  enemy  in  the 
Pre-aux-Clercs,  and  perhaps  of  no  very  differ- 
ent nature.  A deep  silence  reigned  throughout 
the  house;  and  a mortal  quarter  of  an  hour 
passed,  during  which  his  fancy  painted  by  turns 
Venus  stepping  from  the  tapestry  to  throw  her- 
self into  his  arms,  the  Countess  de  Turgis  in  her 
hunting  habit,  a princess  of  the  blood  royal,  a 
gang  of  assassins,  and  then — idea  more  hor- 
rid still  than  this! — an  old  woman  in  love  with 
him. 

Suddenly,  without  the  least  preliminary 
noise  to  show  that  any  one  had  entered  the  house, 
the  key  turned  quickly  in  the  lock;  the  door 
opened  and  shut,  as  if  automatically,  the  mo- 
ment a masked  lady  had  stepped  into  the  room. 

Her  stature  was  tall  and  well  proportioned. 
A gown  fitting  closely  to  her  bust  showed  the 
grace  of  her  figure;  but  neither  the  tiny  foot 
slippered  in  white  velvet,  nor  the  little  hand  un- 
luckily covered  with  an  embroidered  glove, 
could  give  any  clear  indication  of  the  incognita’s 
age;  yet  something — magnetic  influence,  in- 
stinct, or  what  not — made  him  guess  that  she  was 
not  more  than  five-and-twenty.  Her  costume 
united  simplicity,  splendour,  and  elegance. 


180  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


Mergy  rose  at  once,  and  bent  knee  before 
her.  The  lady  advanced  one  step,  and  then  said 
in  a sweet  voice: 

“Dios  os  guarde , caballero.  Sea  V . M . el 
bien  venido ."  * 

Mergy  gave  a start  of  surprise. 

“Habla  V.  M.  espanol?”\ 

But  he  spoke  no  Spanish,  and  could  hardly 
understand  any. 

The  lady  seemed  vexed;  but  she  allowed 
Mergy  to  lead  her  to  one  of  the  chairs,  in  which 
she  sat,  motioning  to  him  to  take  the  other.  Then 
she  began  the  conversation  in  French,  but  with 
a foreign  accent,  which  was  sometimes  very 
marked,  and,  as  it  were,  exaggerated,  while  at 
other  times  it  did  not  appear  at  all. 

“ Sir,  your  valiancy  has  made  me  forget  the 
reserve  customary  with  my  sex.  I wished  to 
see  so  accomplished  a cavalier,  and  I find  him 
none  other  than  repute  has  asserted.” 

Mergy  blushed  and  bowed.  “Will  you, 
madame,”  said  he,  “be  so  cruel  as  to  preserve 
that  mask,  which  like  an  envious  cloud  hides 
from  me  the  rays  of  the  sun?  ” Now  he  had 
read  this  phrase  in  a book  translated  from  the 
Spanish. 

“ Sir  Cavalier,  if  I find  your  discretion  to 

* “ God  keep  you,  Sir.  Welcome.” 
t “ Do  you  speak  Spanish  ? ” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  181 


be  of  proof,  you  shall  see  me  more  than  once 
face  to  face;  but  for  to-day  you  must  be  con- 
tent with  the  pleasures  of  conversation.,, 

“ Ah,  madame,  that  pleasure,  by  its  very 
greatness,  makes  me  long  but  more  violently  to 
see  you.” 

He  was  kneeling  at  her  feet,  and  seemed  as 
though  he  would  raise  the  mask. 

" Poco  a poco * Sir  Frenchman!  You  go  too 
fast.  Resume  your  seat,  or  I leave  you  this 
moment.  If  you  knew  who  I am  and  what  I 
dare  in  order  to  see  you,  you  would  be  content 
with  the  mere  honour  that  I do  you  in  coming 
hither.” 

“ Truly,  I think  your  voice  is  not  unknown 
to  me.” 

“ Yet  you  have  never  heard  it  before.  Tell 
me,  could  you  love  faithfully  a woman  who  loved 
you?  ” 

“ Since  I have  been  with  you  I have  felt ” 

“ You  have  never  seen  me,  so  you  can  not 
love  me.  You  do  not  know  whether  I am  fair 
or  foul.” 

“ I am  sure  you  are  charming.” 

The  incognita  withdrew  her  hand  which  he 
had  seized,  and  lifted  it  to  her  mask  as  though 
she  would  take  it  off. 

* “ Fair  and  softly.” 


182  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ But  what  would  you  do  if  you  saw  before 
you  a woman  fifty  years  old  and  frightfully 
hideous?  ” 

“ That  is  impossible.” 

“ Yet  at  fifty  one  can  love  still.”  She  sighed 
as  she  spoke,  and  the  young  man  shuddered. 

“ Your  charming  form,  your  hand  that  you 
are  trying  in  vain  to  rob  me  of,  all  things  prove 
your  youth.” 

But  there  was  more  gallantry  than  assurance 
in  this  speech. 

“Alas!”  she  sighed. 

Mergy  began  to  be  really  alarmed. 

“ Love  is  not  enough  for  you  men,”  she 
said,  “ you  must  have  beauty  too.”  * And  she 
sighed  once  more. 

“ Let  me,  I implore  you,  take  off  this 
mask ” 

“No,  no!”  and  she  repulsed  him  briskly. 
“Remember  your  promise!”  But  then  she 
added  in  a gayer  tone,  “ I should  run  too  much 
risk  in  unmasking.  I like  to  see  you  at  my 
feet;  and  if  perchance  I were  neither  young 
nor  fair — if  you  thought  me  neither — you  might 
leave  me  disconsolate.” 

“ Show  me  then  but  that  little  hand  of 
yours!  ” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  183 


She  drew  off  a perfumed  glove,  and  held  out 
to  him  a hand  as  white  as  snow. 

“ I know  that  hand!  ” cried  he.  “ There  is 
but  one  so  fair  in  all  Paris.,, 

“ Indeed!  and  whose  is  that?” 

“A  countess’s.” 

“What  countess?” 

“ The  Countess  de  Turgis.” 

“ Ah ! I know  what  you  mean.  Madame  de 
Turgis  has  white  hands  enough,  thanks  to  her 
perfumer’s  almond  paste.  But  I think  I can 
boast  that  mine  are  softer  than  hers.” 

All  this  was  said  very  naturally ; and  Mergy, 
who  had  thought  that  he  recognised  the  beauti- 
ful countess’s  voice,  grew  doubtful,  and  felt  as 
if  he  must  give  up  the  notion. 

“ Two  instead  of  one!  ” thought  he.  “ Have 
I a fairy  godmother?  ” And  he  strove  to  dis- 
cover on  the  lovely  hand  the  mark  of  a ring 
which  he  had  seen  Madame  de  Turgis  wear. 
But  the  fingers,  round  and  of  perfect  symmetry, 
showed  not  the  slightest  mark  of  wear,  not  the 
faintest  trace  of  being  out  of  shape. 

“ Madame  de  Turgis ! ” again  cried  the  in- 
cognita, laughing.  “ Truly  you  are  kind  to  take 
me  for  her.  I trust,  thanks  to  heaven,  I have 
a little  the  advantage  of  her!  ” 


184  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ Yet,  on  my  honour,  the  countess  is  the  most 
beautiful  woman  I have  even  seen.” 

“ You  love  her,  then?  ” asked  she  sharply. 

“ Perhaps ; but  I beg  you,  take  off  your 
mask,  and  show  me  a still  fairer  woman.” 

“ When  I am  sure  that  you  love  me,  then  you 
shall  see  me  face  to  face.” 

“ Love  you?  But  in  God’s  name,  how  am  I 
to  love  you  without  seeing  you?  ” 

“This  hand  is  pretty:  fancy  my  face  a 
match  for  it.” 

“Now  I know  you  are  charming;  for  you 
have  just  betrayed  yourself  by  dropping  the  dis- 
guise of  your  voice.  I am  certain  I recognised 
it!” 

“ And  it  is  the  voice  of  Madame  de  Turgis?  ” 
said  she,  laughing,  and  with  a strong  Spanish 
accent.” 

“ Exactly  so.” 

“ A mistake,  a mistake  of  yours,  Senor  Ber- 
nardo! My  name  is  Dona  Maria — Dona  Maria 

de but  I will  tell  you  my  surname  later.  I 

am  a lady  of  Barcelona;  my  father,  who  keeps 
stern  watch  over  me,  has  been  travelling  for 
some  time,  and  I profit  by  his  absence  to  amuse 
myself  and  see  the  French  Court.  As  for 
Madame  de  Turgis,  cease,  I pray  you,  to  men- 
tion that  woman  to  me;  I hate  her  very  name! 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  185 


There  is  no  spitefuller  lady  at  Court.  And  do 
you  not  know,  too,  how  she  became  a widow?  ” 
“ I have  heard  something.” 

“Well,  then,  speak!  What  did  they  tell 
you?  ” 

“ That,  finding  her  husband  paying  atten- 
tions to  her  waiting-woman,  she  seized  a pon- 
iard, and  dealt  him  such  a blow  with  it  that  the 
poor  man  died  a month  afterwards.” 

“ And  the  deed  seems  horrible  to  you?  ” 

“ Nay,  I confess  that  I can  excuse  her.  They 
say  she  loved  her  husband;  and  I think  nobly 
of  jealousy.” 

“You  say  that  because  you  think  yourself 
in  her  presence,  but  at  heart  you  despise  her.” 
There  was  a touch  of  sadness  and  melan- 
choly in  the  voice,  but  it  was  not  now  that  of 
Madame  de  Turgis,  and  Mergy  was  completely 
puzzled. 

“ What!  ” said  he,  “ you  are  Spanish  and  you 
do  not  respect  jealousy?  ” 

“No  more  of  this.  What  is  the  black  rib- 
bon that  you  wear  round  your  neck?  ” 

“ ’Tis  a relic.” 

“ I thought  you  were  a Protestant.” 

“ So  I am,  but  this  relic  was  given  me  by 
a lady,  and  I wear  it  in  memory  of  her.” 

“ Ah ! if  you  wish  to  please  me  you  will  think 


186  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


no  more  of  ladies.  I would  fain  be  more  to  you 
than  all  women.  Who  gave  you  the  reliquary? 
Madame  de  Turgis  again?  ” 

“ Nay,  truly.” 

“ ’Tis  false.” 

“ Then  you  are  Madame  de  Turgis!  ” 

“ You  have  betrayed  yourself,  Senor  Ber- 
nardo.” 

“ How?  ” 

“ When  I see  Madame  de  Turgis  I shall  ask 
how  she  came  to  commit  sacrilege  by  giving  a 
holy  thing  to  a heretic.” 

Mergy’s  puzzlement  grew  deeper  every  mo- 
ment. 

“ But,”  she  continued,  “ I want  that  re- 
liquary. Give  it  me!” 

“ No:  I can  not.” 

“ I will  have  it.  Dare  you  refuse  me?  ” 

“ But  I promised  to  return  it  to  the  giver.” 
“Bah!  a childish  promise  that!  Promises 
made  to  false  women  are  not  binding.  Besides, 
take  heed!  ’tis,  perchance,  a charm,  a dangerous 
talisman,  that  you  wear.  They  say  she  is  a great 
enchantress.” 

“ I believe  not  in  witchcraft.” 

“ Nor  in  wizards?  ” 

“ I believe  a little  in  witches  ” and  he  laid 
stress  on  the  last  word. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  187 


“ Listen ! Give  me  the  relic,  and  perhaps 
then  I will  take  off  my  mask.” 

“ That  is  her  voice  this  time.” 

“ Once  more,  will  you  give  me  that  relic?  ” 

“ I will  give  it  you  bach , if  you  will  doff 
your  mask.” 

“ Ah!  how  sick  I am  of  that  Turgis  of  yours! 
Love  her  as  much  as  you  like;  what  do  I care?  ” 
She  turned  on  her  chair  as  if  irritated;  and 
the  satin  which  veiled  her  bosom  heaved  and  sank 
rapidly.  For  some  moments  she  spoke  not. 
Then  suddenly  turning  once  more,  she  cried  in 
mocking  tones,  “ V ala  me  Dios!  V . M.  no  es 
Caballero > es  un  monge! " * 

With  a wave  of  her  hand  she  upset  the  two 
tapers  that  burnt  on  the  table,  together  with 
half  the  bottles  and  dishes.  As  the  lights  went 
out  she  tore  off  her  mask,  and  in  the  deepest 
gloom  Mergy  felt  burning  lips  which  sought  his, 
and  a pair  of  arms  closely  embracing  him. 

* “ God  forgive  me ! You  are  no  knight.  You  are  a monk ! ’* 


CHAPTER  XV 


IN  THE  DARK 


“ By  night  all  cats  are  grey,” 


THE  clock  of  a neighbouring  church 
struck  four. 

“ Good  heavens!  four?  I shall  hard- 
ly have  time  to  reach  home  before  day!  ” 

“ Ah,  cruel  love ! you  would  leave  me  so 


soon?  ” 


“I  must;  but  we  shall  soon  see  each  other 
again.” 

“We  shall  soon  see  each  other?  you  forget, 
dearest  countess,  that  I have  not  seen  you  yet!  ” 
“ Never  mind  your  countess,  baby  that  you 
are!  I am  Dona  Maria;  and  when  the  light 
comes  you  will  see  that  I am  not  she  for  whom 
you  take  me.” 

“ Where  is  the  door?  I will  call  some  one.” 
“ No,  Bernardo,  let  me  go  down  by  myself ; 
I know  the  room,  and  I can  find  a match.” 

“Take  care  not  to  step  on  the  glass:  you 
broke  enough  last  night.” 

“ I can  take  care  of  myself,  thank  you.” 

188 


A CHRONICLE 


189 


“ What  have  you  got  there?  ” 

“ Ah ! ’tis  my  corset ! Holy  Virgin ! what  shall 
I do?  I cut  all  the  laces  with  your  dagger!  ” 
“We  must  ask  the  old  woman  for  some 
more.” 

“Do  not  stir,  but  leave  it  to  me.  Farewell, 
beloved  Bernardo!  ” 

The  door  opened  and  shut  immediately;  a 
long  burst  of  laughter  sounding  outside.  Mergy 
perceived  that  his  conquest  had  escaped  him,  and 
tried  to  pursue  her.  But  in  the  darkness  he 
bumped  against  the  furniture,  he  entangled  him- 
self with  garments  and  curtains,  and  he  never 
could  find  the  door.  Suddenly  it  opened,  and 
a person  entered  holding  a dark  lantern.  Mergy 
seized  the  lantern-bearer  at  once. 

“ Ah!  ” cried  he,  with  a tender  embrace,  “ I 
have  got  you  now;  you  can  not  escape  me 
again!  ” 

“ Let  me  alone,  M.  de  Mergy,”  said  a gruff 
voice.  “ Is  that  the  way  you  squeeze  people?  ” 
He  recognized  the  crone,  and  exclaimed, 
“The  devil  take  you!” 

Then  he  dressed  himself  without  speaking, 
took  up  his  weapons  and  his  cloak,  and  left  the 
house  in  very  much  the  temper  of  a man  who, 
after  drinking  fine  Malaga  wine,  swallows  by 
his  servant’s  carelessness  a glass  of  antiscorbutic 


190 


A CHRONICLE 


syrup  which  has  been  forgotten  for  some  years 
in  the  cellar. 

Mergy  was  cautious  enough  with  his  brother. 
He  told  him  of  a Spanish  lady  of  great  beauty, 
as  far  as  he  could  judge  in  the  absence  of  light; 
but  he  did  not  so  much  as  mention  the  suspicions 
which  had  occurred  to  him  about  his  incognita. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  CONFESSION 

“ Amphitryon . No  more  of  this,  Alcmena,  I beseech  you.  Let 
us  be  serious.” — Moliere,  Amphitryon. 

TWO  days  passed  without  any  message 
from  the  pretended  Spaniard,  and  on 
the  third  the  brothers  learnt  that  Ma- 
dame de  Turgis  had  arrived  the  day  before  in 
Paris,  and  that  she  would  certainly  go  to  pay 
her  respects  to  the  Queen-Mother  in  the  course 
of  the  day.  They  went  at  once  to  the  Louvre, 
and  found  her  in  a gallery  surrounded  by  ladies, 
with  whom  she  was  conversing.  The  sight  of 
Mergy  did  not  seem  to  cause  her  the  slightest 
emotion,  nor  did  the  faintest  blush  colour  her 
generally  pale  cheeks;  but  as  soon  as  she  saw 
him,  she  nodded  to  him  as  to  an  old  acquaintance, 
and  after  the  usual  compliments  were  exchanged 
she  leant  towards  him  and  whispered: 

“ I hope  your  Huguenot  obstinacy  is  a little 
shaken  now.  Miracles  were  necessary  to  convert 
you” 


191 


192  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ How  so?  ” 

“ What!  Have  you  not  experienced  in  your 
own  person  the  marvellous  effect  of  the  virtue 
of  relics?  ” 

Mergy  smiled  incredulously. 

“ The  memory  of  the  fair  hand  which  gave 
me  this  little  box,”  said  he,  “ and  the  love  with 
which  it  inspired  me,  no  doubt  doubled  my 
strength  and  my  skill.” 

She  laughed;  but  shook  her  finger  threaten- 
ingly at  him. 

“You  are  becoming  impertinent,  master  cor- 
net! Do  you  know  who  it  is  to  whom  you  speak 
thus?  ” 

As  she  spoke  she  drew  off  her  glove  to  ar- 
range her  hair.  Mergy  stared  at  the  hand,  and 
from  it  carried  his  glance  to  the  eyes,  wide-awake 
and  wicked-looking,  of  the  beautiful  countess. 
She  burst  out  laughing  at  his  astonished  coun- 
tenance. 

“ Why  do  you  laugh?  ” said  he. 

“If  you  come  to  that,  why  do  you  look  at  me 
with  this  astounded  air?” 

“ Pardon  me,  but  for  some  days  past  I have 
been  living  in  a state  of  wonder.” 

“ Indeed?  That  must  be  interesting.  Tell 
me  quickly  some  of  these  wondrous  things 
which  have  been  continually  happening  to  you.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  193 


“ I can  not  tell  you  now  or  here;  besides,  I 
do  not  forget  a certain  Spanish  motto  which  I 
was  taught  three  days  ago.” 

“ What  motto  is  that?  ” 

“ A single  word : Callad” 

“ What  does  that  mean?  ” 

“ Ah,  you  do  not  know  Spanish,”  said  he, 
observing  her  narrowly;  but  she  bore  his  exam- 
ination without  the  slightest  appearance  of  per- 
ceiving any  hidden  meaning  in  his  words;  and 
the  young  man,  after  fixing  his  eyes  on  her, 
had  in  fact  to  lower  them  soon  in  forced  recogni- 
tion of  the  more  potent  spirit  in  those  which  he 
had  ventured  to  challenge. 

“ In  my  childhood,”  said  she,  with  an  air  of 
complete  unconcern,  “ I knew  a few  words  of 
Spanish,  but  I think  I have  forgotten  them  now; 
so  talk  French,  if  you  wish  me  to  understand 
you.  What  does  your  motto  mean?  ” 

“ It  recommends  discretion,  madame.” 

“ By  my  faith!  it  would  be  a good  motto  for 
our  young  courtiers,  especially  if  they  could 
manage  to  suit  the  deed  to  the  word.  But  you 
are  very  clever,  M.  de  Mergy.  Who  taught  you 
Spanish?  I will  wager  that  it  was  a lady.” 

Mergy  looked  at  her  tenderly,  and  with  some- 
thing of  a smirk. 

“ I know  but  a word  or  two  of  Spanish,”  said 


194  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


he  under  his  breath;  “and  it  was  love  that  en- 
graved them  on  my  memory.” 

“Love!”  repeated  the  countess  mockingly. 
And  as  she  spoke  quite  loud,  several  ladies  turned 
their  heads  at  the  word,  as  if  to  ask  what  was 
the  matter. 

Mergy,  rather  piqued  at  her  satire,  and  an- 
noyed at  seeing  himself  treated  thus,  drew  from 
his  pocket  the  Spanish  letter  which  he  had  re- 
ceived from  the  crone,  and  offered  it  to  the 
countess. 

“ I have  no  doubt,”  said  he,  “ that  you  are 
as  clever  as  I,  and  that  you  will  have  no  difficulty 
in  construing  this  Spanish.” 

Diane  de  Turgis  snatched  the  billet,  read  it, 
or  pretended  to  read  it,  and,  laughing  consumed- 
ly,  handed  it  to  the  lady  next  her. 

“ Come,  Madame  de  Chateauvieux,”  said 
she,  “ read  this  love-letter  which  M.  de  Mergy 
has  just  received  from  his  mistress,  and  which 
he  is  good  enough,  as  it  appears,  to  lay  at  my 
feet.  The  beauty  of  it  is  that  I know  the 
hand.” 

“Very  likely,”  said  Mergy  rather  bitterly, 
but  still  in  a low  tone. 

Madame  de  Chateauvieux  read  the  letter; 
laughed,  and  passed  it  to  a gentleman,  who  did 
the  same  to  another;  and  in  a minute  or  two 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  195 


every  one  in  the  gallery  was  acquainted  with  the 
favour  which  a Spanish  lady  had  shown  to 
Mergy. 

When  the  laughter  ceased,  the  countess  de- 
manded of  Mergy  whether  he  thought  the  lady 
of  the  letter  pretty. 

“ On  my  honour,  madame,”  said  he,  “ I think 
her  not  less  pretty  that  yourself.” 

“ Oh,  heavens!  what  do  you  say?  But  you 
must  only  have  seen  her  at  night ; for  I know  her 
well.  And  faith!  I congratulate  you  on  your 
good  fortune.”  And  she  began  to  laugh  more 
uncontrollably  than  ever.” 

“ But,  my  pretty  Diane,”  said  Madame  de 
Chateau vieux,  “ why  do  you  not  tell  us  who  this 
Spanish  dame  is  who  is  lucky  enough  to  have 
secured  M.  de  Mergy ’s  heart?  ” 

“ Before  I name  her,  I beg  you,  M.  de 
Mergy,  to  declare  before  these  ladies  whether 
you  have  seen  your  love  by  daylight?” 

Mergy  felt  not  a little  awkward;  and  his 
uneasiness  and  vexation  were  visible  on  his  coun- 
tenance in  a sufficiently  amusing  manner.  But 
he  held  his  tongue. 

“ Not  to  make  mysteries,”  said  the  countess, 
“ this  note  is  from  the  Senora  Dona  Maria  Rod- 
riguez. I know  her  writing  as  well  as  my 
father’s.” 


196  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“Maria  Rodriguez!”  cried  all  the  ladies 
with  a shout  of  laughter. 

Now  Dona  Rodriguez  was  a lady  of  more 
than  fifty  summers.  She  had  been  a duenna  at 
Madrid;  and  I do  not  know  either  why  she  had 
come  to  France,  or  why  Marguerite  de  Valois 
had  given  her  a place  in  her  household.  Perhaps 
she  kept  this  kind  of  monster  beside  her  in  order 
to  set  off  her  own  charms  by  the  contrast;  just 
as  the  painters  of  the  time  drew  on  the  same 
canvas  the  portrait  of  a beauty  and  the  carica- 
ture of  her  dwarf.  But  when  Dona  Rodriguez 
appeared  at  the  Louvre  she  was  the  butt  of  all 
the  Court  ladies  for  her  starched  air  and  her 
old-world  costume. 

Mergy  shuddered.  He  had  seen  the  duenna ; 
and  he  remembered  with  horror  that  the  masked 
lady  had  given  the  name  of  “ Maria.”  All  his 
memories  became  entangled ; he  was  visibly  chop- 
fallen,  and  the  laugh  redoubled. 

“ She  is  a most  discreet  dame,”  said  Madame 
de  Turgis,  “ and  you  could  not  have  made  a 
better  choice.  She  looks  quite  handsome  when 
she  has  her  false  teeth  in  and  her  black  wig 
on.  Besides,  she  is  certainly  not  more  than 
sixty.” 

“ She  must  have  bewitched  him!  ” cried  Ma- 
dame de  Chateauvieux. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  197 


“ Perhaps  M.  de  Mergy  is  an  antiquary?  ” 
asked  another  lady. 

“ What  a pity,”  said  one  of  the  Queen’s 
maidens,  sighing  low — “ what  a pity  that  men 
will  take  such  ridiculous  fancies!  ” 

Mergy  was  still  trying  his  best  to  defend 
himself,  and  was  cutting  a very  foolish  figure 
under  a shower  of  ironical  congratulations  when 
the  King  appeared  at  the  gallery’s  end.  All 
smiles  and  jokes  ceased  at  once;  the  company 
drew  up  in  rows  to  let  him  pass,  and  silence  fol- 
lowed the  tumult. 

The  King  was  reconducting  the  Admiral, 
with  whom  he  had  had  a long  interview  in  his 
cabinet.  His  hand  rested  in  familiar  fashion  on 
the  shoulder  of  Coligny,  whose  grey  beard  and 
black  garments  contrasted  sharply  with  Charles’s 
youthful  mien  and  his  gaily  embroidered  dress. 
To  see  them,  men  might  have  said  that  the  young 
King,  with  discretion  rare  on  the  throne,  had 
chosen  the  best  and  wisest  of  his  subjects  as  a 
favourite. 

As  they  crossed  the  gallery,  and  all  eyes  were 
fixed  on  them,  Mergy  heard  the  voice  of  the 
countess  murmuring  low  in  his  ear,  “ Do  not  be 
angry  with  me,  and  do  not  look  at  this  till  you 
are  outside.” 

At  the  same  moment  there  fell  into  his 


A CHRONICLE 


198 

hat,  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  a sealed  paper 
with  something  hard  inside.  He  pocketed  it, 
and  ten  minutes  later,  when  he  had  left  the 
Louvre,  he  opened  it,  and  found  a small  key, 
with  the  words : “ This  key  opens  my  garden 
gate.  To-night  at  ten.  I love  you.  I shall 
never  be  masked  for  you  again,  and  you  shall 

at  last  see  Dona  Maria  and Diane.” 

The  King,  after  escorting  the  Admiral  to 
the  end  of  the  gallery,  said,  “ Farewell,  father,” 
clasping  his  hands.  “ You  know  whether  I love 
you;  and  I know  you  are  mine,  body  and  soul.” 
And  he  followed  the  words  with  a loud  laugh. 
Then,  on  his  way  back,  he  stopped  before  Cap- 
tain George,  and  said,  “ To-morrow,  after  mass, 
come  and  speak  to  me  in  my  cabinet.”  He 
turned  his  head  and  threw  a half  anxious  glance 
towards  the  door  by  which  Coligny  had  just 
departed;  then  he  left  the  gallery  to  closet  him- 
self with  the  Marshal  de  Retz. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  PRIVATE  AUDIENCE 


“ Macbeth . Do  you  find 

Your  patience  so  predominant  in  your  nature 
That  you  can  let  this  go  ?” 

Shakespeare. 

CAPTAIN  GEORGE  betook  himself 
to  the  Louvre  at  the  appointed  time. 
He  had  no  sooner  given  his  name  than 
the  usher,  raising  a door-curtain  of  tapestry, 
introduced  him  into  the  King’s  closet.  Charles, 
who  was  sitting  by  a small  table  in  the  attitude 
of  one  who  writes,  motioned  to  him  with  his 
hand  to  be  quiet,  as  if  he  feared  to  lose  the  thread 
of  the  ideas  which  occupied  him.  So  the  captain 
remained  standing  in  a respectful  posture  half- 
a-dozen  paces  from  the  table,  and  had  leisure 
to  survey  the  apartment  and  to  remark  its  or- 
naments in  detail.  They  were  simple  enough, 
consisting  of  hardly  anything  but  equipments 
for  the  chase  hung  anyhow  about  the  walls.  A 
fairly  good  picture  of  the  Virgin,  with  a great 
branch  of  box  above  it,  hung  between  a long 

199 


200  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


arquebuss  and  a hunting-horn.  The  table  at 
which  the  monarch  wrote  was  covered  with 
papers  and  books.  On  the  floor  a rosary,  and  a 
small  book  of  “ Hours,”  lay  huddled  up  with 
nets  and  hawks’  bells;  while  a large  greyhound 
slumbered  on  a cushion  hard  by. 

Suddenly  the  King  threw  down  his  pen  with 
a gesture  of  rage  and  a muttered  oath.  His  head 
on  his  breast,  he  paced  the  length  of  the  room 
twice  or  thrice  with  ill-measured  steps,  and  then, 
suddenly  halting  in  front  of  the  captain,  he 
gazed  at  him  in  a startled  fashion,  as  if  he  had 
not  noticed  him  before. 

“ Ah!  ’tis  you!  ” he  cried,  with  a step  back- 
ward. 

The  captain  bowed  to  the  ground. 

“ I am  glad  to  see  you.  I had  something  to 
say  to  you but ” And  he  stopped. 

George,  as  he  waited  for  the  end  of  the  sen- 
tence, stood  with  his  mouth  slightly  open,  his 
neck  stretched  forward,  his  left  foot  some  inches 
in  advance  of  the  right — in  short,  in  the  exact 
position,  I think,  which  a painter  would  give  to 
a figure  of  Attention.  But  the  King’s  head 
dropped  once  more  on  his  bosom,  and  he  seemed 
busy  with  some  idea  a thousand  leagues  away 
from  those  which  he  had  just  been  on  the  point 
of  putting  into  words.  For  some  minutes  there 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  201 


was  total  silence,  and  Charles  at  last  sat  down 
and  put  his  hand  to  his  brow  as  one  wearied. 

“ The  deuce  is  in  the  rhyme!  ” cried  he,  with 
a stamp  and  a clang  of  the  long  spurs  with  which 
his  boots  were  garnished.  The  great  hound  woke 
with  a start,  and  taking  the  stamp  for  a signal 
to  himself,  got  up,  came  close  to  the  King’s  chair, 
laid  his  two  paws  on  the  royal  knees,  and,  lifting 
his  slender  head,  which  rose  far  above  the  King’s, 
opened  his  mouth  wide  and  yawned  in  the  most 
unceremonious  manner.  So  difficult  is  it  to  teach 
dogs  a courtly  mode  of  behaviour. 

But  the  King  drove  away  the  dog,  who  lay 
down  again  with  a sigh,  and  once  more,  his  eyes 
meeting  the  captain’s  as  if  by  chance,  he  said, 

“ Excuse  me,  George,  it  is  a * rhyme  which 

has  driven  me  to  desperation.” 

“Perhaps  I am  in  your  Majesty’s  way?” 
said  the  captain,  with  another  deep  bow. 

“ Not  at  all,  not  at  all,”  said  the  King,  rising 
and  putting  his  hand  on  the  captain’s  shoulder 
familiarly.  He  smiled  as  he  did  it,  but  his  smile 
was  on  the  lips  only,  and  his  eyes,  which  were 
far  distraught,  took  no  part  therein. 

“ Did  the  chase  the  other  day  tire  you?  ” 
asked  he  at  last,  evidently  finding  some  difficulty 

♦The  reader  may  supply  an  epithet.  Charles  IX.  frequently  used 
oaths,  which  were  forcible  enough  in  all  conscience,  but  far  from  elegant. 


202  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


in  starting  his  subject.  “ The  stag  made  a long 
fight  of  it.” 

“ Sire,  I should  hardly  be  worthy  to  com- 
mand a troop  of  your  Majesty’s  light  horse  if 
a day’s  hunting  like  that  of  the  day  before  yes- 
terday tired  me.  In  the  late  war  M.  de  Guise 
used  to  call  me  the  Albanian,  because  he  never 
saw  me  out  of  the  saddle.” 

“ Yes,  I have  been  told  that  you  are  a good 
horseman.  But  tell  me,  are  you  a good  shot?  ” 
“ I can  use  the  arquebuss  pretty  well,  sire, 
though  I am  far  from  being  your  Majesty’s 
equal  at  it.  Such  skill  is  not  given  to  every  one.” 
“ Well,  you  see  that  long  piece  there.  Load 

it  with  a dozen  buckshot,  and me  if  at  sixty 

paces  one  of  them  goes  wide  of  the  breast  of 
the  scoundrel  you  may  have  taken  for  mark!” 
“ Sixty  paces  is  a fair  range;  but  I would 
rather  not  try  the  experiment  personally  with  a 
marksman  like  your  Majesty.” 

“ And  it  would  send  a ball  of  the  right  calibre 
into  a man’s  body  at  two  hundred,”  said  the 
King,  putting  the  arquebuss  into  the  captain’s 
hands. 

“ It  seems  as  good  as  it  is  richly  mounted,” 
said  George,  after  carefully  examining  it,  and 
trying  the  lock. 

“ I see,  brave  captain,  that  you  know  some- 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  203 


thing  about  guns.  Take  aim  with  it,  that  I may 
see  how  you  go  to  work.” 

The  captain  obeyed,  and  Charles  went  on 
speaking  slowly.  “ A pretty  tool  is  an  arque- 
buss!  At  a hundred  paces,  and  with  a crook  of 
the  finger,  thus,  one  can  be  sure  of  ridding  one- 
self of  an  enemy ; and  neither  mail  shirt  not  cors- 
let will  keep  out  a good  bullet.” 

I have  already  said  that  Charles  IX.,  either 
from  a trick  acquired  in  youth,  or  from  natural 
timidity,  scarcely  ever  looked  his  interlocutor 
in  the  face.  Rut  this  time  he  looked  straight  at 
the  captain  with  a singular  expression  in  his  eyes. 
George  dropped  his  own  almost  without  intend- 
ing it;  and  the  King  almost  immediately  did 
the  same.  There  was  silence  for  a moment,  but 
George  was  the  first  to  break  it. 

“ Still,  however  adroit  a man  may  be  with 
firearms,  lance  and  sword  are  the  surer 
weapons.” 

“Yes,  but  the  arquebuss ” and  Charles 

smiled  oddly.  Then  he  began  again:  “ They 

say,  George,  that  the  Admiral  has  mortally  in- 
sulted you?” 

“ Sire ” 

“ I know  it;  I am  certain  of  it.  But  I should 
like  you 1 could  wish  you  to  tell  me  the  mat- 

ter yourself.” 


204  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ Sire,  it  is  true:  I was  speaking  to  him  of 
an  unlucky  affair  in  which  I had  the  deepest 
interest ” 

“ Your  brother’s  duel?  Faith,  ’tis  a pretty 
fellow  who  knows  how  to  spit  a man  neatly;  I 
honour  him  for  it:  Comminges  was  a coxcomb 
and  got  his  deserts.  But,  death  of  my  life!  how 
the  devil  did  old  greybeard  find  occasion  in  this 
to  pick  a quarrel  with  you?  ” 

“I  fear  that  certain  hapless  differences  of 
religion,  and  my  conversion,  which  I thought  had 
been  forgotten ” 

“ Forgotten?  ” 

“ Your  Majesty  having  set  the  example  of 
forgetting  religious  differences,  and  your  Maj- 
esty’s rare  and  impartial  justice  being ” 

“ Learn,  my  good  fellow,  that  the  Admiral 
never  forgets.” 

“ Sire,  I have  had  occasion  to  perceive  that,” 
and  George’s  face  darkened. 

“ Tell  me,  captain,  what  do  you  mean  to 
do?” 

“ I,  sire?  ” 

“ Yes:  speak  frankly.” 

“ Sire,  I am  too  poor  a gentleman,  and  the 
Admiral  is  too  old  a man,  for  me  to  challenge 
him;  and  besides,  sire,”  added  he  with  a bow,  and 
an  attempt  to  make  good  what  he  thought  might 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  205 


seem  to  the  King  too  bold  a speech  by  a courtly 
phrase,  “if  a duel  were  possible,  I should  fear 
to  lose  your  Majesty’s  favour  by  it.” 

“Bah!”  said  the  King,  and  he  rested  his 
right  hand  on  George’s  shoulder. 

“ Luckily,”  went  on  the  capt&in,  “ my  honour 
is  not  in  the  Admiral’s  hands ; and  if  any 
one  of  my  own  rank  suggested  any  doubt  of 
it,  then  I should  ask  for  your  Majesty’s  per- 
mission  ” 

“ That  means  that  you  will  not  take  revenge 
on  the  Admiral  himself?  yet  the  fellow  grows 
terribly  insolent.” 

George  opened  his  eyes  in  amazement. 

“ And  yet  further,”  continued  the  King, 
“ he  has  insulted  you,  has  grievously  insulted  you, 
may  the  devil  take  me!  if  they  say  truth.  A 
gentleman  is  not  a footboy,  and  there  are  things 
which  can  not  be  borne  even  from  a prince.” 

“But  how  can  I avenge  me?  He  would 
think  it  below  his  birth  to  fight  with  me.” 

“ Perhaps;  but ” and  the  King  lifted  the 

arquebuss,  and  took  aim  with  it  once  more. 

“ Do  you  understand  me?  ” said  he. 

The  captain  fell  back  two  steps;  for  the 
monarch’s  gesture  was  plain  enough,  and  the 
diabolical  expression  of  his  countenance  gave  it 
only  too  clear  a comment. 


206  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ What!  sire,  you  would  advise  me ? ” 

The  King  struck  the  butt  of  the  gun  violently 
on  the  floor,  and  cried,  looking  at  the  captain 
with  angry  eyes: 

“ I advise  you!  By  the  body  of  God!  I ad- 
vise you  nothing!  ” 

Not  knowing  what  to  answer,  George  did 
what  many  people  would  have  done  in  his  place. 
He  bowed,  and  looked  at  the  ground. 

But  the  King  soon  went  on  in  a milder 
tone: 

“ Still,,  if  you  happened  to  let  fly  at  him  in 
order  to  avenge  your  honour,  I can  not  say  that 
I should  greatly  care.  By  the  Pope’s  bowels! 
a gentleman  has  no  more  precious  possession 
than  his  honour,  and  there  is  nothing  he  may  not 
do  to  make  it  safe  and  sound.  Besides,  these 
Chatillons  are  as  proud  and  insolent  as  the  hang- 
man’s understrappers.  The  rascals  would  twist 
my  neck,  I know,  if  they  could,  and  take  my 
place.  Why,  sometimes  when  I see  the  Admiral 
my  fingers  itch  to  tear  his  beard  out.” 

But  to  this  flow  of  language  from  a man 
ordinarily  sparing  of  speech,  the  captain  an- 
swered never  a word. 

“Well!”  continued  the  King,  “what  in 
God’s  name  are  you  going  to  do?  In  your  place 
I would  wait  for  him  as  he  comes  from  his  ac- 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  207 


cursed  meeting-house,  and  send  a good  arquebuss 
charge  from  a window  into  his  loins.  My  cousin 
of  Guise  would  be  grateful  enough  to  you,  by 
Jove!  and  you  would  have  done  much  for  the 
peace  of  the  kingdom.  Do  you  not  know  that 
this  heretic  is  more  king  of  France  than  I am 
myself?  I am  sick  of  it;  I tell  you  frankly 

what  I think;  we  must  teach  the  not  to 

touch  the  honour  of  a gentleman.  A hole  drilled 
through  the  skin  is  fair  pay  for  a wound  given 
to  honour.” 

“ A gentleman’s  honour  is  not  mended  but 
ended  by  assassination.” 

The  answer  came  on  the  King  like  a thunder- 
bolt. Motionless,  his  hands  stretched  towards 
the  captain,  he  still  clutched  the  arquebuss  which 
he  had  seemed  to  offer  as  an  instrument  of  ven- 
geance. His  lips  were  bloodless  and  half -parted 
and  his  haggard  eyes,  fixed  on  those  of  George, 
seemed  at  once  to  exercise  and  undergo  a horrid 
fascination.  At  last  the  gun  dropped  from  his 
quivering  grasp,  and  echoed  as  it  fell  on  the 
floor.  The  captain  darted  at  once  to  pick  it  up, 
and  the  King  sat  down  in  his  chair,  dropping  his 
head  in  his  sombre  fashion  on  his  breast,  while 
the  twitching  of  his  eyebrows  and  his  mouth  gave 
evidence  of  the  struggle  which  was  going  on  in 
his  heart. 


208  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ Captain,”  said  he  after  a long  silence, 
“ where  is  your  troop  of  light  horse?  ” 

“ At  Meaux,  sire.” 

“ In  a day  or  two  you  will  join  it  and  bring 

it  yourself  to  Paris.  In yes,  in  a day  or  two 

you  will  have  your  orders;  farewell!”  and  his 
voice  still  rang  harsh  and  angrily.  The  captain 
bowed  deeply,  and  Charles,  pointing  to  the  closet 
door,  informed  him  that  his  audience  was  fin- 
ished. 

He  was  departing  backwards  with  the  usual 
ceremonial  bows,  when  the  King,  rising  sharply, 
seized  his  arm — 

“ Keep  your  mouth  shut  at  least!  You  un- 
derstand? ” 

George  bowed  once  more,  and  laid  his  hand 
on  his  heart.  As  he  left  the  room  he  heard  the 
King  harshly  calling  his  greyhound,  and  crack- 
ing his  dog-whip,  as  if  inclined  to  vent  his  wrath 
on  the  innocent  animal. 

As  soon  as  he  was  at  home  the  captain  wrote 
the  following  missive,  which  he  conveyed  to  the 
Admiral:  “ One  who  loves  you  not,  but  loves 

honour,  bids  you  beware  of  the  Duke  of  Guise, 
and,  it  may  be,  of  some  one  mightier  still.  Your 
life  is  in  danger.” 

But  the  letter  produced  no  effect  on  Coligny’s 
dauntless  soul.  All  know  that  shortly  after- 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  209 


wards,  on  the  22nd  of  August,  1572,  he  was 
wounded  with  an  arquebuss-shot  by  a wretch 
named  Maurevel,  who  received  from  the  deed 
the  nickname  of  “ The  King’s  Butcher.” 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  CATECHUMEN 


“ ’Tis  pleasing  to  be  schooled  in  a strange  tongue 
By  female  lips  and  eyes.” 

Lord  Byron,  Don  Juan , canto  ii. 


WHEN  two  lovers  are  very  cautious, 
sometimes  a whole  week  or  more 
passes  before  the  public  is  admitted 
to  their  secret.  At  the  end  of  that  time  pru- 
dence gives  herself  a holiday;  precaution  begins 
to  appear  ridiculous.  Somebody  intercepts  a 
glance  with  little  difficulty,  construes  it  with  still 
less,  and  then  all  is  known. 

Thus  no  long  time  passed  before  the  con- 
nection of  the  Countess  de  Turgis  and  the 
younger  Mergy  ceased  to  be  a secret  for  Cathe- 
rine’s Court.  A crowd  of  convincing  proofs 
would  have  been  enough  to  open  even  blind 
eyes.  For  instance,  Madame  de  Turgis  usually 
wore  lilac  ribbons;  and  rosettes  of  lilac  ribbons 
adorned  Bernard’s  sword-hilt,  the  skirts  of  his 
doublet,  and  his  shoes.  The  countess  had  made 
no  secret  of  her  dislike  for  a beard,  and  her 

210 


A CHRONICLE 


211 


liking  for  a smartly  turned-up  moustache;  now 
for  some  short  time  Mergy’s  chin  had  been  al- 
ways carefully  shaved,  while  his  moustache — 
ferociously  curled,  stiffly  pomaded,  and  combed 
with  a leaden  comb — described  a crescent,  the 
points  of  which  soared  considerably  above  his 
nose.  And  people  even  had  the  impudence  to 
say  that  a certain  gentleman,  who  had  occasion 
to  go  forth  very  early,  and  was  passing  through 
the  Rue  des  Assis,  had  seen  the  countess’s  garden 
gate  open,  and  a man  come  forth,  whom,  not- 
withstanding the  fact  that  his  face  was  com- 
pletely enveloped  in  his  cloak,  he  had  had  no 
difficulty  in  recognising  as  the  Seigneur  de 
Mergy. 

But  the  most  convincing  proof  of  all,  and 
the  most  surprising  to  the  world,  was  the  sight 
of  the  young  Huguenot — the  pitiless  derider  of 
all  the  ceremonies  of  the  Catholic  faith — assidu- 
ously frequenting  the  churches,  never  missing 
a procession,  and  even  dipping  his  fingers  in 
holy  water,  which  a day  or  two  earlier  he  would 
have  regarded  as  hideous  sacrilege.  Men  whis- 
pered that  Diane  had  gained  a soul  for  heaven; 
and  young  gentlemen  of  the  Protestant  faith 
made  it  known  that  they  were  not  indisposed  to 
consider  the  question  of  conversion  seriously,  if, 
instead  of  Capuchins  and  Franciscans,  mission- 


212  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


aries  to  them  were  selected  from  youthful  and 
pious  beauties  like  Madame  de  Turgis. 

Yet  Bernard  was  a long  way  from  being 
converted.  Certainly  he  went  to  church  with 
the  countess;  but  then  he  kept  at  her  side,  and 
never  ceased  whispering  in  her  ear  during  the 
whole  mass,  to  the  great  scandal  of  the  faithful. 
By  this  means  he  not  only  escaped  listening  to 
the  service  himself,  but  also  prevented  devout 
persons  from  attending  to  it  as  they  ought  to 
have  done.  As  for  processions,  it  is  well  known 
that  in  those  days  they  were  mere  pleasure  par- 
ties, as  full  of  amusement  as  a masquerade.  And 
lastly,  Mergy  had  given  up  his  scruple  about 
dipping  his  fingers  in  holy  water,  simply  because 
it  gave  him  the  occasion  of  publicly  squeezing 
a pretty  hand  which  never  touched  his  without  a 
quiver.  However,  if  he  kept  his  faith,  he  had 
to  fight  stoutly  for  it;  and  Diane  had  all  the 
greater  advantage  in  her  controversies  with  him, 
that  she  generally  chose,  for  the  purpose  of  the- 
ological discussion,  the  particular  moments  when 
it  was  hardest  for  Mergy  to  refuse  her  any- 
thing. 

“ Dear  Bernard,”  said  she  one  evening,  rest- 
ing her  head  on  her  lover’s  shoulder,  while  she 
twined  her  long  black  tresses  round  his  neck — 
“ dear  Bernard,  you  were  at  church  to-day  with 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  213 


me.  Did  that  beautiful  sermon  produce  no  ef- 
fect on  your  heart?  Will  you  always  be  stub- 
born? ” 

“ Ah,  dearest ! how  can  you  believe  that  a 
whining  Capuchin  can  do  what  you  have  not 
done  with  your  sweet  voice,  and  with  religious 
arguments  so  well  reinforced  by  my  Diane’s  lov- 
ing looks?  ” 

“Sinner!  I should  like  to  strangle  you!” 
And  pulling  one  of  her  locks  a little  tighter, 
she  drew  him  still  closer  to  herself. 

“ Do  you  know  how  I spent  sermon-time?  ” 
asked  he.  “ In  counting  the  pearls  in  your  hair. 
Only  see  how  you  have  spilt  them  about  the 
room!  ” 

“I  knew  it!  You  did  not  listen  to  the  ser- 
mon! It  is  always  the  same  story.  Ah!”  said 
she  a little  sadly,  “ well  do  I see  that  you  love 
me  not  as  I love  you.  If  you  did,  you  would 
have  been  converted  long  ago.” 

“But  Diane!  why  this  eternal  argument? 
Let  us  leave  it  to  the  Sorbonne  doctors  and  to 
our  preachers;  and  let  us  pass  our  own  time 
better!” 

“ Let  me  go!  If  only  I could  save  you,  how 
happy  I should  be!  Why,  my  Bernardo,  to  do 
that,  I would  double  the  number  of  years  that 
I shall  have  to  spend  in  purgatory!  ” 


214  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


He  smiled,  and  pressed  her  in  his  arms;  but 
she  repulsed  him  with  an  air  of  ineff  able  sadness. 

“ You  would  not  do  that  for  me,  Bernard. 
You  care  nothing  for  the  risk  my  soul  runs  when 
I give  myself  thus  to  you!  ” And  the  tears  suf- 
fused her  beautiful  eyes. 

“ Dearest  love,  do  you  not  know  that  for 
love’s  sake  many  sins  are  forgiven?  ” 

“ Yes,  I know  that.  But  if  I could  save  you, 
all  my  sins  would  be  forgiven  me:  all  those  we 
have  done — all  those  we  may  do  hereafter — all 
would  be  pardoned.  Nay,  our  very  sins  them- 
selves would  have  been  but  the  instruments  of 
our  salvation ! ” 

And  as  she  spoke  she  tightened  her  arms 
round  him  with  all  her  strength:  yet  the  pas- 
sionate exaltation  with  which  she  spoke  had,  in 
the  particular  situation,  something  so  comical 
about  it,  that  Mergy  felt  some  difficulty  in  pre- 
venting a burst  of  laughter  at  this  singular 
fashion  of  exhorting. 

“ Let  us  put  our  conversion  off  a little 
longer,  my  Diane,”  said  he.  “ When  we  are 
both  old;  when  we  are  too  old  to  love,  then ” 

“Ah,  wicked  love!  you  drive  me  to  despair! 
Why  this  diabolical  smile  on  your  lips?  Do  you 
think  I long  to  kiss  them  when  they  look  like 
that?  ” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  215 


“ But  you  see  I am  not  smiling  now.” 

“ Come,  be  quiet ; and  tell  me,  querido  Ber- 
nardo, did  you  read  the  book  I gave  you?  ” 

“ Yes.  I finished  it  yesterday.” 

“ Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?  There  is 
reasoning  for  you ! — reasoning  to  shut  the  mouth 
of  the  infidel!  ” 

“ Your  book,  my  beloved  Diane,  is  only  a 
farrago  of  nonsense  and  irrelevance.  It  is  the 
foolishest  that  has  yet  come  from  your  Popish 
press;  and  I will  bet  that,  boldly  as  you  speak 
of  it,  you  have  never  read  it.” 

“No,”  she  answered,  blushing  a little;  “I 
have  not  read  it  yet.  But  I am  sure  it  is  full  of 
truth  and  reason.  I do  not  want  any  other  proof 
than  the  persistence  of  the  Huguenots  in  cry- 
ing it  down.” 

“ Then  shall  I,  to  amuse  you,  go  through  it 
Bible  in  hand?  ” 

“ Oh!  never,  Bernard!  Mercy  on  me,  I am 
not  a Bible-reader,  like  you  heretics.  I will  not 
have  you  weaken  my  faith.  And,  besides,  you 
would  only  lose  your  labour.  You  Huguenots 
are  always  so  desperately  ready  with  your  learn- 
ing; you  throw  it  in  our  teeth  when  you  argue; 
and  we  poor  Catholics,  who  have  not  read 
Aristotle  and  the  Scriptures  like  you,  do  not 
know  what  to  answer.” 


216  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ That  is  because  you  choose  to  believe  at 
any  cost,  without  giving  yourselves  the  trouble 
to  find  out  whether  belief  is  reasonable  or  not. 
Now  we  at  least  study  our  religion  before  de- 
fending it,  and,  above  all,  before  trying  to  make 
converts  of  others.” 

“ I would  I had  the  eloquence  of  Father 
Giron,  the  Franciscan.” 

“ He  is  a fool  and  a babbler.  But  he  might 
shout  as  loud  as  he  liked  six  years  ago  in  a pub- 
lic discussion;  our  minister  Houdart  put  him 
down.” 

“ A story — a heretic  story!  ” 

“ What?  Do  you  not  know  that  in  the  course 
of  the  debate  great  drops  of  perspiration  were 
seen  to  fall  from  the  good  father’s  brow  on  the 
Chrysostom  he  held  in  his  hand?  Whereon  a 

wit  made  these  verses ” 

“ I will  not  hear  them!  Do  not  poison  my 
ears  with  your  heresy.  Bernard!  my  beloved 
Bernard!  I adjure  you  listen  not  to  all  these 
ministers  of  Satan,  who  deceive  you  and  lead 
you  hellwards.  I implore  you,  save  your  soul 
and  come  back  to  the  Church!  ” And  as,  despite 
her  entreaties,  she  still  read  on  her  lover’s  lips 
the  smile  of  unbelief — “ If  you  love  me,”  she 
cried,  “ renounce  for  me,  for  my  sake,  your 
damnable  beliefs.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  217 


“ I could  more  easily,  dearest,  renounce  my 
life  for  you  than  what  reason  shows  me  to  be 
true.  How  can  you  wish  even  love  to  prevent 
my  believing  that  two  and  two  make  four?  ” 

“ Cruel!”  she  cried.  But  Bernard  had  an 
infallible  secret  for  putting  a stop  to  discussions 
of  this  kind,  and  he  employed  it. 

“ Alas ! dear  Bernardo,”  said  the  countess  in 
a languishing  voice,  when  dawning  day  made 
it  necessary  for  Mergy  to  leave  her,  “ I peril  my 
soul  for  you,  and  yet,  I see  too  well,  I shall  not 
have  the  consolation  of  saving  yours.” 

“ Come,  come,  my  angel,  Father  Giron  will 
give  us  both  a right  absolution  in  articulo 
mortis ” 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  FRANCISCAN 

“A  monk  in  the  cloister 
Is  not  worth  an  oyster, 

But  once  set  him  free 
He  is  worth  thirty-three.”  * 

THE  day  after  the  marriage  of  Mar- 
guerite with  the  King  of  Navarre, 
Captain  George,  by  the  orders  of  the 
Court,  left  Paris  in  order  to  take  the  command 
of  his  troop  of  light  horse,  then  garrisoning 
Meaux.  His  brother  bade  him  farewell  cheer- 
fully enough;  and,  hoping  to  see  him  again  be- 
fore the  end  of  the  merrymaking,  made  up  his 
mind  to  keep  house  by  himself  for  some  days. 
He  was  sufficiently  busy  with  Madame  de  Turgis 
not  to  be  desperately  afraid  of  a little  solitude, 
for  he  was  never  at  home  by  night,  and  took  his 
sleep  by  day. 

* In  original — 

“Monachus  in  claustro 
Non  valet  ova  duo; 

Sed  quando  est  extra 

Bene  valet  triginta.” — Translator's  Note. 

218 


A CHRONICLE 


219 


On  Friday,  the  22nd  of  August,  1572,  the 
Admiral  was  severely  wounded  by  an  arquebuss- 
shot  from  a scoundrel  of  the  name  of  Maurevel. 
And  as  public  rumour  set  this  cowardly  attempt 
at  assassination  to  the  credit  of  the  Duke  de 
Guise,  that  lord  quitted  Paris  the  next  day,  as  if 
to  be  out  of  reach  of  the  complaints  and  the 
threats  of  the  reformers.  The  King  seemed  at 
first  anxious  to  prosecute  him  with  the  utmost 
severity;  but  he  made  no  opposition  to  his  re- 
turn, which  was  to  be  marked  by  the  terrible 
massacre  of  the  24th. 

It  happened  that  a goodly  company  of  well- 
mounted  young  Protestant  gentlemen,  after 
paying  a visit  of  inquiry  to  the  Admiral,  spread 
themselves  about  the  streets  with  the  intention 
of  searching  out  Guise  or  his  friends  and  picking 
a quarrel  if  they  met  them.  Yet  at  first  things 
went  quietly  enough.  The  populace,  alarmed  at 
their  numbers,  or  perhaps  biding  another  time, 
were  silent  as  they  passed,  and  heard  unmoved 
their  cries  of  “ Death  to  the  Admiral’s  assassins!  ” 
and  “Down  with  the  Guisards!” 

At  the  corner  of  a street  some  dozen  Catholic 
youth  of  quality,  among  them  more  than  one 
follower  of  the  House  of  Guise,  suddenly  faced 
the  Protestant  party.  A serious  squabble  seemed 
likely;  but  nothing  of  the  sort  happened.  The 


220  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


Catholics,  perhaps  from  prudence,  perhaps  act- 
ing under  orders,  made  no  answer  to  the  insulting 
cries  of  the  Huguenots;  and  a young  man  of 
good  appearance,  who  was  at  their  head,  ad- 
vanced towards  Mergy,  bowed  to  him  politely, 
and  said  in  a familiar  and  friendly  tone,  “ Good 
day,  M.  de  Mergy.  You  have  seen  M.  de  Cha- 
tillon,  of  course?  How  is  he?  Have  they  caught 
the  assassin?  ” 

The  two  parties  halted,  and  Mergy,  recog- 
nising the  Baron  de  Yaudreuil,  returned  his 
salutation  and  answered  his  questions.  Other  re- 
marks were  exchanged  between  individuals  on 
both  sides;  and  as  they  were  brief,  the  parting 
took  place  without  a quarrel.  The  Catholics 
yielded  the  crown  of  the  causeway,  and  each  went 
his  way. 

Vaudreuil  had  held  Mergy  back  for  some 
time,  so  that  he  was  separated  from  his  com- 
panions. As  they  parted,  Vaudreuil  looked  at 
Mergy’s  saddle,  and  said,  “ Take  care!  Unless 
I mistake,  your  nag  is  ill-girthed.  Look  to  it.” 
Mergy  dismounted  and  adjusted  the  girths;  but 
he  was  scarcely  in  the  saddle  again  when  he 
heard  a sharp  trot  behind  him.  He  turned  his 
head,  and  saw  a young  man  whose  face  he  did 
not  know,  but  who  had  been  one  of  the  party 
they  had  just  met. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  221 


“ me ! ” cried  the  newcomer,  addressing 

him,  “ I would  I could  meet,  man  to  man,  one 
of  the  fellows  who  just  now  cried  ‘ Down  with 
the  Guisards.’  ” 

“ You  need  not  go  far  to  find  one,  sir,”  an- 
swered Mergy.  “ What  can  I do  to  oblige 
you?  ” 

“Ah!  Are  you  one  of  the  rascals?” 

Mergy  drew  at  once,  and  struck  the  Guises’ 
friend  over  the  face  with  the  flat  of  his  sword. 
He  seized  a holster  pistol  and  fired  it  point- 
blank  at  Mergy.  Luckily  it  flashed  in  the  pan, 
and  Diane’s  lover,  replying  with  a stout  sword- 
blow  on  his  foe’s  head,  stretched  him,  bathed  in 
his  blood,  at  his  horse’s  feet.  Instantly  the  popu- 
lace, who  had  hitherto  been  neutral,  took  the  side 
of  the  wounded  man.  The  young  Huguenot  was 
assailed  with  sticks  and  stones;  and  as  resistance 
against  such  numbers  was  hopeless,  he  set  spurs 
to  his  steed  and  galloped  off.  But  just  as  he 
tried  to  cut  a corner  too  sharply  his  horse  fell, 
and  threw  him  without  hurting  him,  but  also 
without  giving  him  a chance  of  mounting  again 
quickly  enough  to  save  himself  from  being  sur- 
rounded by  the  enraged  mob.  So  he  set  his  back 
to  the  wall,  and  for  some  time  kept  off  those 
who  came  within  sword  reach.  But  a mighty 
bludgeon  blow  having  shivered  his  blade,  he  was 


222  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


thrown  to  the  ground,  and  would  have  been  torn 
in  pieces  if  a cordelier,  throwing  himself  in  front 
of  those  who  were  pressing  on,  had  not  covered 
him  with  his  own  body. 

“ What  are  you  doing,  children?  ” cried  he. 
“ Let  the  man  go ! He  is  not  to  blame.,, 

“ ?Tis  a Huguenot!  ” yelled  a hundred  furious 
voices. 

“Well!  give  him  time  to  repent.  He  can 
still  do  so.” 

The  hands  which  clutched  Mergy  let  him  go : 
he  rose,  and  picking  up  his  broken  sword,  pre- 
pared to  sell  his  life  dear  if  he  should  have 
to  sustain  a new  attack. 

“Let  the  man  live!”  repeated  the  monk, 
“ and  be  patient.  The  Huguenots  will  all  come 
to  mass  before  long.” 

“ Patience?  patience?  ” echoed  some  voices 
angrily.  “We  have  heard  that  for  a long  time 
now,  and  yet  every  Sunday  in  their  conventicles 
their  psalm-singing  offends  good  Christians!  ” 

“ Well,”  said  the  monk  cheerfully,  “ do  ye 
not  know  the  proverb,  ‘ The  owl  sings  long,  but 
he  grows  hoarse  at  last ’ ? Let  them  bray  a little 
more;  ye  shall  soon,  by  the  grace  of  our  Lady 
of  August,  hear  them  sing  mass  in  Latin.  But 
as  for  this  young  misbeliever,  give  him  to  me. 
I’ll  make  a good  Christian  of  him.  Away  with 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  223 


you,  and  don’t  burn  the  roast  in  your  haste  to 
eat.” 

The  crowd  dispersed  grumbling,  but  off ering 
Mergy  not  the  least  insult.  They  even  caught 
his  horse  for  him. 

“ This  is  the  first  time  in  my  life,  father,” 
said  he,  “ that  it  has  given  me  pleasure  to  see 
that  cloth  of  yours.  Believe  me  that  I am  grate- 
ful, and  deign  to  take  this  purse.” 

“ If  you  mean  it  for  the  poor,  my  boy,  I 
will  take  it.  But  know  that  I take  an  interest  in 
you.  Your  brother  is  my  friend,  and  I wish 
you  well.  Become  a convert  at  once:  come  with 
me,  and  your  business  shall  soon  he  done.” 

“ I thank  you  for  the  offer,  father,  but  I 
have  not  the  least  wish  to  be  converted.  How 
do  you  know  me?  What  is  your  name?” 

“ They  call  me  Brother  Lubin,  and  I think, 
young  rogue,  I have  seen  you  pretty  often  hang- 
ing about  a certain  house.  But  mum  for  that. 
Tell  me,  M.  de  Mergy,  do  you  believe  now  that 
a monk  can  do  a good  deed?  ” 

“ I will  publish  your  generous  conduct  every- 
where, Brother  Lubin.” 

“Yet  you  will  not  quit  meeting  for  mass?  ” 
“ Once  more,  no;  and  I will  never  go  to 
church  except  to  hear  your  sermons.” 

“ You  are  evidently  a man  of  taste.” 


224 


A CHRONICLE 


“ Yes;  and  an  admirer  of  yours  to  boot.” 

“ Then  I am  sincerely  sorry  that  you  persist 
in  your  heresy.  I have  warned  you ; I have  done 
what  I could;  what  will  come  must  come  of  it. 
I wash  my  hands.  Farewell,  my  child!” 

“Farewell,  father!”  and  Mergy,  mounting 
his  horse,  made  his  way  back  to  his  lodgings  a 
little  bruised,  but  uncommonly  well  satisfied  with 
having  got  so  cheaply  out  of  so  awkward  an 
affair. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  LIGHT  HORSEMEN 


“ Jaffier . He  amongst  us 

That  spares  his  father,  brother,  or  his  friend, 

Is  damned.” 

Otway,  Venice  Preserved. 

ON  the  evening  of  the  24th  of  August  a 
squadron  of  light  horse  entered  Paris 
by  the  gate  of  Saint  Antoine,  the  dusty 
boots  and  uniforms  of  the  troopers  showing  that 
they  had  had  a long  ride.  Their  bronzed  coun- 
tenances were  lighted  up  by  the  last  glow  of  day- 
light; and  upon  these  countenances  might  be 
read  the  vague  anxiety  which  is  felt  at  the  ap- 
proach of  a thing,  as  yet  not  fully  known,  but 
suspected  to  be  of  evil  nature. 

The  troop  rode  slowly  towards  a wide  ex- 
panse of  ground,  free  from  houses,  which 
stretched  alongside  of  the  old  palace  of  the  Tour- 
nelles.  There  their  captain  bade  them  halt,  sent 
out  a dozen  men  under  his  cornet  to  reconnoitre, 
and  himself  posted  sentinels  at  the  mouth  of  each 
adjoining  street,  with  matches  burning,  as  if  in 

225 


226  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


presence  of  the  enemy.  This  unusual  precaution 
taken,  he  returned  to  the  front  of  his  lines. 

“ Sergeant!  ” cried  he,  in  a harsher  and  more 
imperious  tone  than  was  his  wont;  and  an  old 
trooper,  his  hat  adorned  with  a gold  stripe,  and 
wearing  an  embroidered  scarf,  respectfully  ap- 
proached his  chief. 

“ Have  all  the  troopers  matches?  ” 

“ Yes,  captain.” 

“Are  the  powder-horns  full?  Is  there  store 
of  bullets?  ” 

“ Yes,  captain.” 

“ It  is  well.”  And  he  walked  his  mare  along 
the  front  of  his  little  force,  the  sergeant 
following  him  a horse’s  length  in  the  rear. 
He  had  perceived  his  captain’s  ill-temper,  and 
was  shy  of  addressing  him;  but  at  last  he  took 
courage. 

“ Captain,”  said  he,  “ may  I give  the  men 
leave  to  feed  their  horses?  you  know  that  they 
have  not  eaten  since  the  morning.” 

“ No.” 

“ Not  even  a handful  of  oats?  It  would  not 
take  long.” 

“Not  a horse  is  to  be  disbridled.” 

“ Because  if  they  are  to  have  work  to-night — 
as  men  say — perhaps  then :” 

The  officer  made  a gesture  of  impatience. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  227 


“ To  your  post!”  said  he  drily,  and  as  he  con- 
tinued his  promenade  the  sergeant  returned  to 
the  midst  of  the  soldiers. 

“ Well,  sergeant,  is  it  true?  What  is  going 
to  he  done?  What  is  up?  What  does  the  cap- 
tain say?  ” 

A score  of  questions  at  once  were  addressed 
to  him  by  old  soldiers,  whom  long  service  and 
old  habit  privileged  to  use  this  liberty  with  their 
superior  officer. 

“ We  shall  see  fine  doings,”  said  the  sergeant 
in  the  important  tone  of  a man  who  knows  more 
than  he  says. 

“ How?  how?  ” 

“We  are  not  to  take  the  bridles  off ; not  for 
a minute.  For  who  knows?  we  may  be  needed 
any  moment.” 

“Aha!  there  is  going  to  be  a fight  then?” 
said  the  trumpeter.  “ With  whom,  an’t  please 
you?  ” 

“ With  whom?  ” said  the  sergeant,  repeating 
the  question  to  give  himself  time  to  meditate 
an  answer.  “ A pretty  question,  faith!  With 
whom  would  you  fight  except  the  King’s 
enemies?” 

“Yes;  but  who  are  these  enemies  of  the 
King?”  continued  the  obstinate  questioner. 

“ The  King’s  enemies ! he  does  not  know  who 


228  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


the  King’s  enemies  are,”  cried  the  sergeant, 
shrugging  his  shoulders  compassionately. 

“ The  Spaniards  are  the  King’s  enemies,”  said 
a trooper;  “but  they  can  hardly  have  come  up 
like  this,  in  a cloud  of  darkness,  without  any  one 
knowing  it.” 

“Hah!”  retorted  another,  “I  know  plenty 
of  enemies  of  the  King  who  are  not  Spaniards.” 

“ Bertrand  is  right,”  said  the  sergeant,  “ and 
I know  whom  he  means.” 

“ Who  are  they?  ” 

“ The  Huguenots,”  said  Bertrand.  “ One 
need  not  be  a wizard  to  see  that.  Everybody 
knows  that  the  Huguenots  got  their  religion 
from  Germany;  and  I am  sure  the  Germans  are 
our  enemies,  for  I have  often  exchanged  pistol- 
shots  with  them — notably  at  St.  Quentin,  where 
they  fought  like  devils.” 

“ That  is  all  very  fine,”  said  the  trumpeter, 
“ but  peace  has  been  made  with  them,  and  there 
was  fuss  enough  about  it  to  make  one  remember 
it.” 

“ A proof  that  they  are  not  our  enemies,” 
said  a young  trooper,  more  richly  dressed  than 
the  rest,  “ is  that  the  Count  de  la  Rochefoucauld 
is  to  head  the  light  horse  in  the  war  which  we 
are  going  to  wage  in  Flanders.  Now  everybody 
knows  that  La  Rochefoucauld  is  of  the  religion. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  229 


Deuce  take  me  if  he  is  not  of  it  from  head  to 
foot,  for  he  wears  spurs  a la  Conde  and  a hat 
d la  Huguenote  .” 

“A  plague  on  him!”  cried  the  sergeant. 
“ You  do  not  know,  Merlin;  you  had  not  joined 
then.  But  it  was  La  Rochefoucauld  who  com- 
manded the  ambush  which  nearly  finished  us  off 
at  La  Robraye  in  Poitou.  He  is  a wily  rascal 
that!” 

“ And  he  says,”  added  Bertrand,  “ that  a 
squadron  of  Reiters  is  more  than  a match  for 
a squadron  of  light  horse.  I am  as  sure  of  it 
as  that  yon  horse  is  a roan.  I heard  it  from 
one  of  the  Queen’s  pages.” 

His  audience  showed  signs  of  wrath;  but  this 
gave  way  soon  to  their  curiosity  to  know  against 
whom  the  warlike  preparations  and  the  unusual 
measures  of  precaution  which  they  saw  were 
being  taken. 

“ Is  it  true,  sergeant,”  asked  the  trumpeter, 
“ that  there  was  an  attempt  to  kill  the  King  yes- 
terday? ” 

“ I will  bet  that  ’twas  these  brutes  of 
heretics.” 

“ The  host  at  the  Cross  of  St.  Andrew,  where 
we  breakfasted,”  said  Bertrand,  “ told  us  how 
they  tried  to  put  an  end  to  the  mass.” 

“ In  that  case  we  could  eat  meat  every  day,” 


230  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


said  Merlin  with  much  philosophy.  “ Bacon  for 
bean  soup;  there  is  not  much  to  complain  of 
in  that.” 

“ Yes;  but  if  the  Huguenots  rule  the  roast, 
the  first  thing  they  will  do  will  be  to  send  all 
our  light  horse  troops  packing,  and  put  dogs 
of  German  Reiters  in  our  place.” 

“If  that  be  so,  I will  not  be  shy  of  skin- 
cutting as  far  as  they  are  concerned.  Death  of 
my  life ! it  makes  me  a good  Catholic  again ! But 
tell  us,  Bertrand,  since  you  have  served  with 
the  Protestants,  is  it  true  that  the  Admiral  gave 
his  troopers  only  eight  sous  a day?  ” 

“Not  a denier  more,  the  stingy  old  Jew!  so 
I left  him  after  one  campaign.” 

“ How  cross  the  captain  is  to-day,”  said  the 
trumpeter.  “ He,  so  good  a fellow  generally, 
and  so  ready  to  talk  with  the  men,  has  not  opened 
his  lips  the  whole  journey.” 

“ The  news  vexes  him,”  said  the  sergeant. 

“ What  news?  ” 

“ Why,  what  the  Huguenots  mean  to  do.” 

“ The  civil  war  is  going  to  begin  again,”  said 
Bertrand. 

“ So  much  the  better  for  us,”  said  Merlin, 
who  always  took  things  on  their  cheerful  side. 
“ There  will  be  knocks  to  give,  villages  to  burn, 
and  Huguenot  girls  to  tousle.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  231 


“It  seems  as  though  they  were  trying  to  play 
their  old  Amboise  trick  again,”  said  the  sergeant; 
“ and  that  is  why  we  have  been  sent  for.  We 
will  set  that  matter  right  enough.” 

At  this  moment  the  cornet  returned  with  his 
detachment,  and,  coming  close  to  the  captain, 
whispered  to  him,  while  his  men  joined  their 
companions. 

“By  my  beard!”  said  one  of  the  recon- 
noitring party,  “ I do  not  know  what  is  going  on 
to-day  in  Paris.  We  have  not  seen  so  much  as  a 
cat  in  the  streets;  while,  to  make  amends,  the  Bas- 
tille is  full  of  troops.  I saw  the  Swiss  pikes  in 
the  courtyard  as  thick  as  standing  corn!” 

“ There  were  some  five  hundred  of  them,” 
said  another. 

“ What  is  certain,”  said  the  first  speaker,  “ is 
that  the  Huguenots  tried  to  kill  the  King,  and 
that  in  the  tussle  the  Admiral  was  wounded  by 
the  great  Duke  of  Guise’s  own  hand.” 

“Ah,  the  scoundrel!  Well  done,  Guise!” 
cried  the  sergeant. 

“ And  the  fact  is,”  added  the  trooper,  “ the 
Swiss  were  saying,  in  their  devil’s  jargon,  that 
the  heretics  have  been  put  up  with  too  long  in 
France.” 

“ For  some  time  past  they  have  certainly  been 
giving  themselves  airs,”  said  Merlin. 


232  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ A man  would  say  they  had  beaten  us  at 
Jarnac  and  Montcontour,  to  judge  by  their 
swashing  and  swaggering.” 

“ They  want,”  said  the  trumpeter,  “ to  eat 
the  meat  and  leave  us  the  bone.” 

“ It  is  time,”  quoth  another,  “ that  good  Cath- 
olics should  curry  their  hides  for  them.” 

“ For  my  part,”  said  the  sergeant,  “ if  the 
King  said  to  me,  ‘Kill  me  these  rascals!’  may 
I be  reduced  to  the  ranks  if  I would  wait  for 
him  to  say  it  twice ! ” 

“ But,  Belle-Rose,  tell  us  what  the  cornet  has 
done?  ” asked  Merlin. 

“ He  spoke  with  some  kind  of  Swiss  officer ; 
but  I could  not  hear  what  he  said.  It  must  have 
been  something  interesting,  for  he  kept  crying 
out,  ‘ Ah,  mon  Dieu!  ah!  mon  Dieu\ 9 ” 

“ Look ! here  are  riders  coming  up  at  full 
gallop.  They  must  be  bringing  us  orders.” 

“ There  are  but  two,  meseems ; and  the  cap- 
tain and  the  cornet  are  going  to  meet  them.” 
Two  horsemen  were  in  fact  riding  rapidly 
towards  the  squadron  of  light  cavalry.  One, 
richly  dressed  and  wearing  a feathered  hat  and 
a green  scarf,  bestrode  a charger.  His  com- 
panion was  fat,  and  short,  and  squat;  he  was 
dressed  in  a black  gown,  and  carried  a large 
wooden  crucifix. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  233 


“ We  are  going  to  fight,  for  certain,”  said 
the  sergeant.  “ They  have  sent  us  a chaplain  to 
confess  the  wounded.” 

“ It  is  not  very  pleasant  to  fight  on  an  empty 
stomach!  ” muttered  Merlin. 

The  two  horsemen  slackened  the  pace  of 
their  steeds,  so  that  on  reaching  the  captain  they 
might  halt  them  without  difficulty. 

“ I kiss  M.  de  Mergy’s  hands,”  said  the  man 
in  the  green  scarf.  “ Does  he  recognise  his  ser- 
vant, Thomas  de  Maurevel?” 

The  captain  was  ignorant  of  Maurevel’s 
latest  crime,  and  knew  him  only  as  the  assassin 
of  the  brave  Mouy.  He  replied  very  drily: 

“ I do  not  know  M.  de  Maurevel;  but  I sup- 
pose that  you  have  come  to  inform  us  at  last  why 
we  are  here?  ” 

“ The  business,  sir,  is  to  save  our  good  King 
and  our  holy  religion  from  the  danger  which 
threatens  them.” 

“ What  is  that  danger?”  asked  George  scorn- 
fully. 

“ The  Huguenots  have  conspired  against  his 
Majesty;  but  their  guilty  plots  have  been  dis- 
covered in  time,  thank  God,  and  all  good  Chris- 
tians meet  to-night  to  cut  them  off  in  their 
sleep.” 

“ As  the  Midianites  were  cut  off  by  Gideon 
the  mighty,”  said  the  man  in  the  black  gown. 


234  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ What  do  I hear?  ” cried  Mergy,  shudder- 
ing with  horror. 

“ The  citizens  are  in  arms,”  went  on  Mau- 
revel;  “ the  Gardes  Fran9aises  and  three  thousand 
Swiss  are  in  the  town.  We  are  nearly  sixty 
thousand  strong.  At  midnight  the  signal  will 
be  given,  and  the  ball  will  open.” 

“ Cutthroat  villian!  What  base  imposture 
are  you  talking?  The  King  does  not  order  mur- 
ders— the  most  he  does  is  to  reward  them.” 

But  as  he  spoke  George  remembered  the 
strange  conversation  he  had  a day  or  two  before 
with  the  King. 

“No  violence,  Sir  Captain.  If  the  King’s 
service  did  not  demand  all  my  care  I should  have 
an  answer  for  your  insults.  Listen  to  me.  I 
come,  sent  by  his  Majesty,  to  desire  that  you  will 
accompany  me  with  your  squadron.  The  Rue 
Saint  Antoine  and  the  adjoining  district  are  as- 
signed to  us,  and  I bring  you  an  exact  list  of 
the  persons  whom  we  must  despatch.  The  rev- 
erend Father  Malebouche  will  deliver  an  ex- 
hortation to  your  people,  and  will  distribute 
among  them  white  crosses,  such  as  all  Catholics 
will  wear,  lest  in  the  darkness  the  faithful  should 
be  taken  for  heretics.” 

“ And  I am  expected  to  lend  my  hand  to 
cut  the  throats  of  sleeping  men?  ” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  235 


“ Are  you  a Catholic,  and  do  you  acknowledge 
Charles  IX  as  your  King?  Do  you  know  the 
writing  of  the  Marshal  de  Retz,  to  whom  you 
owe  obedience?  ” And  Maurevel  handed  him 
a paper  which  he  had  in  his  belt. 

Mergy  called  a trooper,  and  by  the  light  of 
a straw  torch  kindled  from  an  arquebuss-match 
he  read  a regular  order  enjoining  upon  Captain 
de  Mergy  in  the  King’s  name  to  support  the 
civil  guard  with  armed  forces,  and  to  put  him- 
self under  the  orders  of  M.  de  Maurevel  for  a 
purpose  which  the  said  Maurevel  would  explain 
to  him.  A schedule  to  this  order  contained  a 
string  of  names,  with  the  heading  “ List  of  the 
heretics  to  be  put  to  death  in  the  Quarter  of 
Saint  Antoine.”  By  the  light  of  the  torch  burn- 
ing in  the  trooper’s  hands  all  the  cavalry  could 
see  the  deep  emotion  which  this  order,  unknown 
to  them  as  yet,  produced  on  their  leader. 

“ My  troopers  will  never  do  the  work  of  as- 
sassins! ” said  George,  throwing  the  paper  back 
in  Maurevel’s  face. 

“ There  is  no  question  of  assassination,”  said 
the  priest  coolly.  “ The  matter  concerns  here- 
tics; and  what  is  to  be  done  is  to  execute  justice 
on  them.” 

“ Good  people ! ” cried  Maurevel,  raising  his 
voice  and  addressing  himself  to  the  horsemen, 


236  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“the  Huguenots  design  the  death  of  the  King 
and  the  Catholics.  We  must  anticipate  them. 
To-night  we  shall  kill  them  all  in  their  sleep ; and 
the  King  grants  you  the  pillage  of  their  houses.” 

A shout  of  savage  joy  ran  along  the  lines: 
“ Long  live  the  King!  ” “ Death  to  the  Hugue- 
nots! ” 

“ Silence  in  the  ranks!”  thundered  the  cap- 
tain. “No  one  but  I has  the  right  to  give 
orders  to  these  troopers.  Comrades,  this  wretch’s 
words  can  not  be  true,  and  had  the  King  himself 
ordered  it,  my  troopers  would  never  slay  de- 
fenceless men.” 

The  soldiers  were  silent,  but  Maurevel  and 
his  companion  shouted  together,  “ Long  live  the 
King!  ” “ Death  to  the  Huguenots!  ” And  the 
troopers  an  instant  later  echoed  “ Long  live  the 
King!  ” “ Death  to  the  Huguenots!  ” 

“ Well,  captain,  will  you  obey?  ” said  Mau- 
revel. 

“ I am  no  longer  captain ! ” cried  George, 
tearing  off  his  collar  and  scarf,  the  insignia  of 
his  rank. 

“ Seize  the  traitor!  ” shouted  Maurevel,  draw- 
ing his  sword.  “ Kill  the  rebel  who  disobeys  his 
King!” 

But  not  a soldier  dared  to  lift  hand  against 
his  chief.  George  struck  Maurevel’s  sword  out 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  237 


of  his  hand,  but  instead  of  stabbing  him  with  his 
own  he  merely  smote  him  on  the  face  with  the  hilt 
so  forcibly  that  he  unhorsed  him.  Then  he  cried 
out  to  the  squadron,  “Farewell,  cowards!  I 
thought  my  men  were  soldiers,  but  they  are  only 
assassins.  For  you,  Alphonse,”  turning  to  the 
cornet,  “ if  you  care  to  be  captain,  here  is  your 
chance.  Put  yourself  at  the  head  of  these 
brigands.” 

And  with  these  words  he  set  spurs  to  his 
horse  and  galloped  away  towards  the  centre  of 
the  city.  The  cornet  followed  him  for  a stride 
or  two;  but  soon  he  slackened  his  horse’s  pace, 
then  fell  into  a walk,  and  at  last  halted,  wheeled 
round,  and  rejoined  the  troop,  no  doubt  reflect- 
ing that  his  captain’s  advice,  though  given  in 
a moment  of  wrath,  was  none  the  less  good  to 
follow.  Maurevel,  still  dizzy  from  the  blow  he 
had  received,  remounted  cursing ; while  the  monk, 
lifting  his  crucifix,  exhorted  the  soldiers  not  to 
give  quarter  to  a single  Huguenot,  but  to  drown 
heresy  in  its  own  blood.  They  had  been  stag- 
gered for  a moment  by  their  captain’s  re- 
proaches ; but,  relieved  of  his  presence,  and  seeing 
before  them  an  alluring  prospect  of  plunder, 
they  brandished  their  sabres  over  their  heads,  and 
swore  to  do  whatsoever  Maurevel  bade  them. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A LAST  ATTEMPT 

“ Soothsayer . Beware  the  ides  of  March.’* 

Shakespeare,  Julius  C oesar. 

THAT  same  evening,  at  the  usual  hour, 
Mergy  left  his  house,  and,  well 
wrapped  up  in  a stone-coloured  cloak, 
his  hat  pulled  over  his  eyes,  he  bent  his  steps  with 
all  due  discreetness  towards  the  countess’s  abode. 
He  had  scarcely  made  half-a-dozen  steps  when  he 
met  the  surgeon  Ambrose  Pare,  whom  he  knew 
from  having  been  a patient  of  his  while  he  was 
wounded.  Pare  was  evidently  coming  from  the 
Hotel  de  Chatillon,  and  Mergy,  after  making 
himself  known,  asked  him  news  of  the  Admiral. 

“ He  is  better,”  said  the  leech.  “ The  wound 
is  kindly,  and  the  patient’s  general  health  is  ex- 
cellent. With  God’s  grace  he  will  get  well.  I 
hope  that  the  draught  I have  prescribed  for  him 
this  evening  will  do  him  good  and  give  him  a 
quiet  night.” 

A man  of  the  lower  class  who  happened  to 
be  passing  heard  them  mention  the  Admiral’s 

name.  As  soon  as  he  was  far  enough  off  to  risk 

238 


A CHRONICLE 


239 


an  insolence  without  fear  of  punishment,  he 
shouted,  “ Your  devil  of  an  Admiral  will  dance 
a jig  at  Montfaucon  before  long!  ” and  ran  off 
at  full  speed. 

“ The  rascal!  ” said  Mergy.  “ ’Tis  pity  that 
our  great  Admiral  should  be  obliged  to  dwell 
in  a town  so  full  of  his  enemies.” 

“ Luckily  his  hotel  is  well  garrisoned,”  said 
the  surgeon.  “ I left  the  stairs  crowded  with  sol- 
diers, who  were  lighting  their  matches.  Ah, 
Monsieur  de  Mergy,  these  townsfolk  love  us  not. 
But  it  is  late,  and  I must  return  to  the  Louvre.” 

They  parted,  wishing  each  other  good  even- 
ing, and  Mergy  went  on  his  way,  absorbed  in 
rose-coloured  reflections  which  soon  made  him 
forget  all  about  the  Admiral  and  the  hatred  of 
the  Papists.  Yet  he  could  not  help  noticing  a 
singular  bustle  in  the  streets  of  Paris,  which  were 
seldom  much  frequented  so  soon  after  nightfall. 
Now  he  met  porters  carrying  burdens  of  unusual 
shape,  which,  dark  as  it  was,  he  could  not  but 
take  for  bundles  of  pikes;  now  it  was  a de- 
tachment of  soldiers  marching  in  silence,  with 
ported  arms  and  lighted  matches ; elsewhere  win- 
dows were  opening,  figures  showing  themselves 
for  a moment,  and  retiring  at  once. 

“Ho!  good  fellow,”  cried  he  to  a porter, 
“ where  are  you  carrying  weapons  so  late?  ” 


240  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ To  the  Louvre,  fair  sir!  for  to-night’s  en- 
tertainment,” said  the  man. 

“ Comrade,”  next  said  Mergy  to  a sergeant 
in  command  of  a patrol,  “ where  are  you  going 
armed  in  that  fashion?  ” 

“ To  the  Louvre,  fair  sir!  for  to-night’s  en- 
tertainment.” 

“What!  sir  page?  you  are  the  King’s  man, 
are  you  not?  Where  are  you  and  your  fellows 
taking  these  chargers  harnessed  for  battle?  ” 

“ To  the  Louvre,  fair  sir!  for  to-night’s  en- 
tertainment.” 

“ To-night’s  entertainment!  ” said  Mergy  to 
himself.  “ It  seems  as  if  everybody  except  my- 
self were  in  the  secret.  However,  it  matters 
little.  The  King  can  amuse  himself  without  me, 
and  I have  little  curiosity  to  see  his  entertain- 
ment.” 

Somewhat  farther  on,  he  noticed  a man  in 
shabby  clothes,  who  kept  stopping  before  certain 
houses  and  marking  the  doors  with  a cross  in 
white  chalk. 

“What!  my  good  man,”  said  he,  “are  you 
a billet-master  that  you  are  marking  doors  like 
that?  ” But  the  stranger  disappeared  without 
making  any  answer. 

As  he  turned  from  one  street  into  another, 
that  where  the  countess  lived,  he  nearly  ran  into 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  241 


a man,  wrapped  like  himself  in  a large  cloak, 
who  was  turning  the  same  corner  in  the  opposite 
direction.  Dark  as  it  was,  and  anxious  as  hot! 
appeared  to  be  to  preserve  their  incognito,  thej 
recognised  each  other  at  once. 

“ Good  evening,  M.  de  Beville,”  said  Mergy, 
holding  out  his  hand. 

In  order  to  give  him  his  own,  Beville  seemed 
to  fumble  under  his  cloak;  he  shifted  something 
heavy  which  he  was  carrying  from  his  right  hand 
to  his  left,  and  as  he  did  it  the  cloak  flew  a little 
open. 

“ Hail ! valiant  champion,  delight  of  ladies ! ” 
said  Beville.  “ I bet  that  my  noble  friend  is  in 
luck  to-night!  ” 

“And  you,  my  good  sir?  There  must  be 
some  jealous  husbands  in  your  neighbourhood; 
for  unless  I am  very  much  mistaken,  you  have  a 
mail  shirt  on  your  shoulders,  and  what  you  have 
under  your  cloak  looks  remarkably  like  a pair 
of  pistols.” 

“ One  must  be  prudent,  Monsieur  Bernard,” 
said  Beville;  “ one  must  be  very  prudent.”  And 
as  he  spoke  he  rearranged  his  cloak  carefully, 
so  as  to  conceal  the  weapons  he  was  carrying. 

“ I am  very  sorry  indeed  not  to  be  able  to 
offer  you  my  help  and  sword  to-night  to  keep 
the  street  and  stand  sentinel  at  your  lady’s  door,” 


242  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


said  Mergy.  “ It  is  impossible  now,  but  on  every 
possible  opportunity  you  may  reckon  on  me.” 
“No;  you  can  not  come  with  me  to-night,  M. 
de  Mergy,”  said  Beville,  and  as  he  said  this  he 
smiled  oddly. 

“ Well  then;  good  luck  and  good-bye.” 

“ I wish  you  good  luck,  too,”  said  Beville,  and 
again  there  was  a certain  emphasis  in  his  way 
of  speaking. 

They  parted,  and  Mergy  had  gone  some  steps 
further  when  he  heard  Beville  call  him.  He 
turned  back  and  saw  him  also  returning. 

“ Is  your  brother  in  Paris?  ” said  Beville. 
“No;  but  I expect  him  every  day.  Ah,  but 
tell  me,  do  you  make  one  in  4 to-night’s  entertain- 
ment ’?  ” 

“ To-night’s  entertainment?  ” 

“Yes;  every  one  says  there  is  going  to 
be  a great  entertainment  at  Court  to-night.” 
Beville  muttered  something  between  his  teeth. 
“ Good-bye,  once  more,”  said  Mergy;  “ I am 
rather  in  a hurry,  and — you  know  what  I mean.” 
“ Listen!  listen!  only  a word,”  cried  Beville; 
“ I can  not  let  you  go  without  one  word  of  ad- 
vice, which  comes  from  a true  friend.” 

“What  is  that?” 

“ Do  not  go  to  her  to-night;  believe  me,  you 
will  thank  me  to-morrow.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  243 


“ Is  that  your  advice?  Then  I do  not  under- 
stand you.  Who  is  she  ? ” 

“ Bah ! you  know  what  I mean.  If  you  are 
wise  cross  the  river  to-night,  and  at  once.” 

“ Is  this  the  joke,”  said  Mergy,  “ to  which 
you  were  leading  up  all  this  time?  ” 

“ Not  in  the  least.  I never  was  more  serious. 
Cross  the  Seine,  I tell  you.  If  the  devil  is  too 
strong  for  you,  go  to  the  Rue  Saint  Jacques, 
near  the  Jacobin  Convent.  Two  doors  off  you 
will  see  a large  wooden  crucifix  nailed  on  the 
wall  of  a mean-looking  house.  The  sign  is  an  odd 
one  for  the  business — but  never  mind  that. 
Knock,  and  you  will  find  a very  obliging  old 
lady,  who  will  receive  you  well  for  my  sake.  Go, 
I say,  and  get  reasonable  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Seine.  Mother  Brulard  has  divers  pretty  and 
well-bred  nieces.  You  understand  me?” 

“ You  are  really  too  good.  I kiss  your 
hands.” 

“No,  no!  pray  take  the  advice  I give  you. 
On  the  word  of  a gentleman  you  will  not  be 
sorry.” 

“A  thousand  thanks;  I will  avail  myself  of 
it  another  time.  To-night  I am  expected.”  And 
Mergy  began  to  step  forward. 

“ Cross  the  Seine,  brave  friend;  that  is  my 
last  word.  If  you  come  to  harm  by  neglecting 
my  advice  I wash  my  hands  of  it.” 


244  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


Seville’s  voice  was  so  unusually  serious  that 
it  struck  Mergy,  who  caught  hold  of  him,  though 
he  had  already  turned  away.  “ What  the  devil 
do  you  mean?  Pray  speak  plainly,  M.  de  Be- 
ville,  and  drop  riddles.” 

“ My  dear  fellow,  probably  I ought  not  to 
speak  so  plainly  as  I do.  But  cross  the  water  be - 
fore  midnight , and  God  be  with  you.” 

“ But ” 

But  Beville  was  far  away  as  he  said  it. 
Mergy  made  as  though  to  follow  him,  but 
soon,  ashamed  of  wasting  time  which  might 
be  so  much  better  employed,  he  retraced 
his  steps,  and  neared  the  garden  where  he 
had  to  enter.  He  was  obliged  to  walk  up 
and  down  for  some  time,  to  give  certain 
passers-by  (who  he  feared  might  be  some- 
what surprised  at  seeing  him  enter  a garden  gate 
at  such  an  hour)  time  to  disappear.  The  night 
was  fine;  a soft  breeze  had  allayed  the  heat,  and 
the  moon  alternately  dipped  into  and  emerged 
from  faint  white  clouds.  It  was  a night  made 
for  love. 

At  last  the  street  was  clear  for  a minute:  he 
opened  the  garden  gate  and  closed  it  again 
noiselessly.  His  heart  beat  fast;  but  he  only 
thought  of  the  joy  awaiting  him  with  his  Diane, 
and  all  the  sinister  fancies  whch  Beville’s  strange 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  245 


words  had  awakened  were  soon  distant.  He 
stepped  on  tiptoe  to  the  house,  where  a lamp 
burnt  behind  a red  curtain  at  a half -opened 
window.  It  was  the  appointed  signal,  and 
in  a moment  he  was  within  his  mistress’s 
oratory. 

She  was  half -lying,  half -sitting,  on  a low 
couch  covered  with  deep  blue  damask;  and  her 
dark  and  dishevelled  tresses  covered  the  whole 
of  the  pillow  on  which  her  head  rested.  Her  eyes 
were  closed,  and  she  seemed  to  be  keeping  them 
so  with  some  effort.  The  room  was  lighted  by  a 
single  lamp  of  silver  hanging  from  the  ceiling, 
which  threw  its  whole  light  on  the  pale  face  and 
glowing  lips  of  Diane  de  Turgis.  She  was  not 
asleep,  but  she  looked  as  though  she  were  suffer- 
ing from  a painful  nightmare.  Mergy’s  boots 
had  no  sooner  creaked  on  the  floor  of  the  oratory 
than  she  raised  her  head,  opened  her  eyes  and 
her  mouth,  shuddered,  and  scarcely  checked  a 
shriek  of  terror. 

“ Did  I frighten  you,  my  angel?  ” said 
Mergy,  kneeling  beside  her,  and  stooping  over 
the  cushion  on  which  the  fair  countess  had  al- 
lowed her  head  once  more  to  drop. 

“ Thank  God,”  said  she,  “ you  are  here  at 
last!  ” 

“ Am  I late?  It  is  still  not  nearly  midnight.” 


246  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ Ah,  do  not  touch  me,  Bernard!  Did  any 
one  see  you  enter?  ” 

“No  one.  But  what  is  the  matter  with  you, 
love?  Why  do  these  sweet  little  lips  shun 
mine? 

“ Ah,  Bernard,  if  you  only  knew!  Oh,  pray 
do  not  torment  me!  I am  horribly  ill;  my 
head  aches  terribly — my  brows  are  on  fire ! ” 

“ Poor  darling!  ” 

“ Sit  down  close  to  me;  and,  I beg  you,  ask 
nothing  of  me  to-night!  I am  very  ill!”  And 
she  hid  her  lovely  face  in  one  of  the  sofa  cushions, 
letting  a moan  of  anguish  escape.  Then  sud- 
denly she  raised  herself  on  her  elbows,  shook  off 
the  thick  tresses  which  covered  her  face,  and 
grasping  Mergy’s  hand  placed  it  on  her  own 
temples,  where  he  felt  the  violent  throbbing  of 
the  veins.  “ Your  hand  is  cool — it  does  me 
good,”  said  she. 

“ Dearest  Diane,”  answered  he,  kissing  the 
burning  brow,  “ how  I wish  I could  take  the 
headache  in  your  stead ! ” 

“ Ah,  yes ; and  I wish But  put  the  tips 

of  your  fingers  on  my  eyelids ; it  will  soothe  me. 
I think  if  I could  weep,  I should  suffer  less; 
but  I can  shed  no  tear.” 

There  was  a long  silence,  interrupted  only 
by  the  irregular  and  heavy  breathing  of  the  coun- 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  247 


tess.  Mergy,  kneeling  by  the  couch,  gently 
stroked  and  sometimes  kissed  the  closed  eyelids 
of  his  beautiful  Diane.  His  left  hand  rested  on 
the  pillow,  and  his  mistress’s  fingers,  entwined  in 
his  own,  clutched  them  from  time  to  time  as  if 
by  a convulsive  movement,  while  her  breath,  at 
once  sweet  and  burning,  touched  his  lips  with  a 
voluptuous  caress. 

“ Dearest,”  said  he  at  last,  “ you  seem  to  me 
to  be  suffering  from  something  worse  than  head- 
ache. Has  anything  grieved  you?  Why  do  you 
not  tell  me  what  it  is?  Do  you  not  know  that 
love  obliges  us  to  share  our  pains  as  well  as  our 
pleasures?  ” 

The  countess  shook  her  head,  but  did  not  open 
her  eyes.  Her  lips  moved,  but  made  no  articulate 
sound;  and  then,  as  if  exhausted  by  even  this 
effort,  she  let  her  head  sink  back  on  Mergy’s 
shoulder.  As  she  did  so,  the  clock  struck  half- 
past  eleven.  Diane  started,  and  sat  up  trem- 
bling. 

“ But  really,”  said  Mergy,  “ you  terrify  me, 
my  beautiful  one!  ” 

“Nothing — nothing  yet!”  said  she,  in  a 
muffled  tone.  “ How  hideous  that  clock  sounds! 
At  each  stroke  I feel  as  it  were  a red-hot  iron 
piercing  my  heart!  ” 

Mergy  could  not  devise  any  better  cure,  or 


248  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


any  better  answer,  than  to  kiss  her  forehead  as 
she  leant  it  towards  him.  Suddenly  she  stretched 
out  her  hands,  and  laid  them  on  her  lover’s  shoul- 
ders; while  still  half -lying  back,  she  bent  on  him 
a gaze  so  glittering  that  it  seemed  as  if  it  would 
pierce  him  through. 

“ Bernard,”  said  she,  “ when  are  you  going 
to  he  converted?  ” 

44  Dear  angel!  let  us  not  talk  of  that  to-day; 
it  will  make  you  still  more  unwell.” 

44  It  is  your  stubbornness  that  makes  me  ill; 
hut  that  matters  little  to  you.  Besides,  time 
presses;  and  were  I dying,  I could  gladly  spend 
my  last  breath  in  exhorting  you.” 

Mergy  tried  to  shut  her  mouth  with  a kiss, — 
a very  good  argument  of  its  kind,  and  one  which 
serves  as  an  answer  to  every  possible  question 
which  can  be  put  to  a lover  by  his  mistress.  But 
Diane,  who  as  a rule  met  him  half-way  on  such 
occasions,  repulsed  him  this  time  vigorously,  and 
almost  indignantly. 

44  Hear  me,  M.  de  Mergy!”  she  cried. 
44  Every  day  I weep  tears  of  blood  as  I think 
of  you  and  the  error  of  your  ways.  You  know 
whether  I love  you  or  not.  Judge  what  I 
must  suffer  when  I think  that  he  who  is  far 
dearer  to  me  than  life  may,  perhaps  at  any  mo- 
ment, perish  body  and  soul!  ” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  249 


“ Diane,  you  know  that  we  agreed  never  to 
talk  on  such  subjects  again.” 

“ But  we  must,  unhappy  man!  How  do  you 
know  that  you  have  even  an  hour  left  for  re- 
pentance? ” 

The  unusual  tone  of  her  voice  and  her  singu- 
lar expressions  reminded  Mergy,  against  his 
will,  of  the  strange  advice  which  he  had  just  re- 
ceived from  Beville.  He  could  not  hinder  a feel- 
ing of  emotion;  but  he  restrained  himself,  and 
set  down  this  excess  of  zeal  for  proselytizing  to 
mere  religious  fervour. 

“What  do  you  mean,  fair  love?”  asked  he. 
“ Do  you  think  the  ceiling  is  going  to  fall  in 
order  to  kill  a Huguenot,  as  the  canopy  of  your 
couch  did  yesterday?  It  was  lucky  we  escaped 
then  at  the  expense  of  a little  dust ! ” 

“Your  obstinacy  drives  me  to  despair!” 
she  replied.  “Listen:  I dreamt  just  now  that 
your  foes  were  making  ready  to  kill  you;  I saw 
you  torn  and  bleeding  in  their  hands ; I saw  you 
give  up  the  ghost  before  I could  bring  my  con- 
fessor to  your  side!” 

“My  foes?  I did  not  know  I had  any.” 

“ Madman!  are  not  all  those  who  hate  heresy 
your  enemies?  Is  not  that  all  France?  Yes!  all 
Frenchmen  must  be  your  foes,  so  long  as  you 
are  the  foe  of  God  and  His  Church!  ” 


250  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“No  more  of  this,  my  queen!  As  for  your 
dreams,  you  must  go  to  old  Camilla  to  expound 
them ; I have  no  skill  in  that.  But  let  us  change 
the  subject.  You  have  been  to  Court  to-day,  I 
suppose?  It  must  have  been  there  you  caught 
this  headache  which  tortures  you  and  maddens 
me.” 

“ Yes,  Bernard,  I have  been  at  Court.  I have 
seen  the  Queen;  and  I left  her  with  my  mind 
made  up  to  make  a last  attempt  at  bringing  about 
a change  in  you.  You  must — you  absolutely 
must  abjure!  ” 

“ I think,”  interrupted  Bernard,  “ that  since, 
my  fair  love,  you  are  strong  enough  to  preach  so 
earnestly,  despite  your  illness,  we  might,  we  really 
might,  if  you  would  permit  it,  employ  our  time 
better  still.” 

She  received  the  pleasantry  with  a glance  half- 
scornful,  half -angry. 

“ Hardened  man!  ” said  she  in  a low  voice, 
and  as  if  speaking  to  herself ; “ why  am  I so  weak 
with  him?  ” Then  continuing  louder,  “ I see 
clearly  enough  that  you  do  not  love  me,  and  I 
rank  with  you  not  even  a little  dearer  than  your 
horse.  Provided  I minister  to  your  pleasure, 
what  does  it  matter  if  I am  miserable?  For  you 
— for  you  alone — I have  consented  to  suffer  the 
torments  of  conscience,  beside  which  all  torments 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  251 


of  man’s  invention  and  man’s  hatred  are  nothing. 
A word  of  your  mouth  would  restore  the  peace 
of  my  soul,  and  this  word  you  will  not  speak! 
You  will  not  sacrifice  for  my  sake  a single  preju- 
dice of  your  own!  ” 

“ Dear  Diane,  how  you  persecute  me!  ” said 
Mergy.  “Be  just,  and  let  not  your  zeal  for  your 
religion  blind  you.  Answer  me.  Will  you  ever 
find  a slave  more  docile  than  I in  everything 
that  body  or  soul  can  do  for  you?  But  if  I must 
repeat  it  once  more,  I can  die  for  you,  but  I 
can  not,  for  you,  believe  in  certain  things.” 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  as  she  heard  him 
speak,  and  she  looked  at  him  with  an  expression 
almost  akin  to  hatred. 

“ I can  not,”  he  went  on,  “ change  for  you  my 
brown  locks  to  fair;  I can  not  alter  the  shape  of 
my  limbs  to  please  you.  My  religion  is  a part  of 
me,  dearest,  and  a part  which  can  only  be  torn 
from  me  with  my  life.  They  might  preach  to 
me  for  twenty  years,  but  never  make  me  believe 
that  a morsel  of  unleavened  bread ” 

“ Silence!  ” interrupted  she  in  a tone  of  com- 
mand. “No  blasphemies!  I have  tried  every- 
thing without  effect.  You — all  of  you  who  are 
infected  with  the  poison  of  heresy — are  a people 
hardened  in  head  and  heart,  and  you  shut  your 
ears  and  eyes  to  the  truth  lest  you  should  see 


252  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


and  hear  with  them.  Well,  the  time  has  come 
when  you  shall  neither  hear  nor  see.  There  was 
but  one  means  left  to  cauterize  this  wound  in  the 
Church,  and  that  means  is  to  be  employed.” 

She  paced  the  chamber  with  a troubled  mien, 
and  then  went  on: 

“ In  less  than  an  hour  the  seven  heads  of  the 
dragon  of  heresy  will  be  lopped  off.  The  sword 
is  sharpened,  the  faithful  are  ready,  the  in- 
fidels shall  be  swept  from  the  face  of  the 
earth!”  Then,  stretching  her  finger  to  the 
clock  in  the  corner  of  the  room — “See!”  she 
said,  “ you  have  still  a quarter  of  an  hour  for 
repentance.  When  the  hand  reaches  that  figure 
your  fate  will  be  sealed!” 

She  was  still  speaking,  when  a dull  sound  like 
to  that  of  a crowd  hovering  round  a mighty  fire 
began  to  make  itself  heard,  at  first  indistinctly; 
hut  it  seemed  to  grow  quickly,  and  after  a very 
few  minutes  the  tolling  of  bells  and  the  report 
of  firearms  were  heard  afar  off. 

“ What  hideous  news  is  this?  ” cried  Mergy. 
But  the  countess  had  darted  to  the  window 
and  had  opened  it.  Then  the  noise,  hitherto 
muffled  by  the  glass  and  the  curtains,  came  in 
more  clearly.  Shrieks  of  pain  and  yells  of  joy 
seemed  to  be  distinguishable  in  it.  A crimson 
smoke  rose  to  the  sky,  and  appeared  to  hang  over 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  253 


every  part  of  the  city  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach.  It  would  have  seemed  a vast  conflagra- 
tion, if  a smell  of  resin,  which  could  only  have 
been  produced  by  thousands  of  lighted  torches, 
had  not  quickly  filled  the  chamber.  At  the  same 
time  the  flash  of  a musket  which  seemed  to  have 
been  discharged  in  the  street  itself  lit  up  for 
a moment  the  windows  of  an  adjoining  house. 

“ The  massacre  has  begun!  ” cried  the  coun- 
tess, putting  her  hands  in  horror  to  her  head. 

“ What  massacre?  What  do  you  mean?  ” 

“ To-night  all  the  Huguenots  are  to  be 
slain  by  the  King’s  orders.  All  Catholics  are 
under  arms,  and  not  a heretic  is  to  be  spared. 
France  and  the  Church  are  saved.  But  you — 
you  are  lost  if  you  do  not  abjure  your  false 
belief.” 

Mergy  felt  all  his  limbs  covered  with  cold 
sweat.  He  stared  with  haggard  eyes  at  Diane 
de  Turgis,  whose  features  expressed  a singular 
mixture  of  anguish  and  triumph.  The  hideous 
din  which  echoed  in  his  ears,  and  filled  all  the 
town,  sufficiently  attested  the  truth  of  the  ap- 
palling news  he  had  just  heard.  For  some  mo- 
ments the  countess  remained  motionless,  her 
eyes  fixed  speechlessly  on  him,  her  finger  still 
stretched  towards  the  window.  She  seemed  to 
appeal  to  Mergy’s  fancy  to  show  him  the  bloody 


254  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


scenes,  as  of  a cannibal  feast,  which  the  howlings 
and  torchlights  suggested.  By  degrees  her  ex- 
pression softened,  its  savage  joy  passed,  the  hor- 
ror in  it  remained.  At  last,  falling  on  her  knees, 
and  with  an  imploring  voice,  “ Bernard !”  she 
cried,  “ I conjure  you,  save  your  life!  Be  con- 
verted! Save  your  life,  save  mine,  which  is 
bound  up  in  yours ! ” 

Mergy  glared  fiercely  at  her  as  she  followed 
him,  still  on  her  knees  and  with  outstretched 
arms,  through  the  chamber.  Answering  never 
a word,  he  rushed  to  the  end  of  the  oratory  and 
seized  his  sword,  which  at  his  entrance  he  had 
placed  on  a chair. 

“ Miserable  man ! ” cried  the  countess,  hasten- 
ing to  him,  “ what  would  you  do?  ” 

“ Defend  myself,”  he  answered.  “ They  will 
not  kill  me  like  a sheep ! ” 

“Madman!  A thousand  swords  could  not 
save  you.  The  whole  town  is  in  arms.  The 
King’s  Guards,  the  Swiss,  the  citizens,  the 
populace,  all  are  engaged  in  the  massacre;  and 
not  a Huguenot  but  has  at  this  moment  a dozen 
daggers  at  his  breast.  There  is  one  only  means 
of  rescue  from  death.  Become  a Catholic!  ” 
Mergy  was  a brave  man;  but  as  he  thought 
of  the  dangers  which  the  night  seemed  to 
threaten,  he  felt,  for  a moment,  base  fear 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  255 


thrilling  to  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  and  even 
the  notion  of  saving  himself  by  apostasy  flashed 
like  lightning  across  his  mind. 

“ I can  answer  for  your  life  if  you  abjure!  ” 
said  Diane,  clasping  her  hands. 

“If  I do  so ,”  thought  he,  “I  shall  despise 
myself  for  the  rest  of  it.”  And  the  thought 
restored  his  courage,  which  was  doubled  by  very 
shame  at  his  own  momentary  wavering.  He 
crushed  his  hat  on  his  head,  drew  his  belt  tight, 
and  rolling  his  cloak  round  his  left  arm  buckler- 
wise,  he  made  a steady  stride  towards  the  door. 

“ Where  are  you  going,  wretch?  ” cried  she. 

“ Into  the  street.  I should  not  like  you  to 
have  the  grief  of  seeing  me  butchered  under 
your  eyes  and  in  your  house.” 

There  was  so  deep  a tone  of  contempt  in  his 
voice  that  the  countess  was  overwhelmed.  She 
had  thrown  herself  in  his  way,  and  he  repulsed 
her  roughly  enough.  But  she  seized  the  skirt 
of  his  doublet,  and  dragged  herself  on  her  knees 
behind  him. 

“ Unhand  me!  ” he  cried.  “ Would  you  de- 
liver me  yourself  to  the  assassins’  daggers?  A 
Huguenot’s  mistress  can  ransom  her  sins  by 
sacrificing  her  lover’s  blood  to  her  Deity!  ” 

“ Stay,  Bernard,  I implore  you!  It  is  only 
your  soul’s  health  I desire.  Live  for  me,  dear 


256  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


angel ! Save  yourself  in  the  name  of  our  love — 
consent  to  pronounce  a single  word,  and  I swear 
you  are  safe!  ” 

“ What?  I accept  the  faith  of  brigands  and 
of  murderers!  Holy  martyrs  of  the  Gospel,  I 
come  to  join  you!  ” 

And  he  tore  himself  so  fiercely  from  her  that 
the  countess  fell  sharply  on  the  floor.  He  was 
about  to  open  the  door  and  depart,  when  Diane, 
rising  with  the  agility  of  a tigress,  sprang  upon 
him  and  clasped  him  in  her  arms  and  with  a grip 
stronger  than  that  of  a strong  man. 

“Bernard!”  she  cried  in  a transport,  and 
with  streaming  eyes,  “ I love  you  more  than  if 
you  had  abjured!”  and  dragging  him  to  the 
couch,  she  flung  herself  and  him  upon  it,  and 
covered  him  with  kisses  and  with  tears. 

“ Stay  here,  my  only  love!  Stay  with  me, 
my  brave  Bernard!  ” she  said,  hugging  him,  and 
twining  her  body  round  him  like  a serpent  en- 
lacing its  prey.  “ They  will  not  seek  you  here : 
not  in  my  arms:  and  did  they  so,  they  must  kill 
me  to  reach  your  breast ! Pardon  me,  dear  love ! 
I could  not  warn  you  sooner  of  the  danger  which 
threatened:  I was  bound  by  a terrible  oath,  but 
I will  save  you  now  or  perish  with  you!  ” 

At  this  moment  a loud  knock  at  the  street 
gate  was  heard.  The  countess  uttered  a piercing 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  257 


shriek,  and  Mergy,  disengaging  himself  from 
her  embrace,  with  his  cloak  still  wrapped  round 
his  left  arm,  felt  so  full  of  strength  and  resolu- 
tion, that  he  would  have  plunged  headlong  on 
a band  of  a hundred  assassins  if  they  had  showed 
themselves. 

In  the  entrance  gate  of  almost  all  Parisian 
houses  there  was  a small  wicket,  closely  barred 
with  iron,  so  that  the  inmates  could  reconnoitre 
beforehand  whether  it  was  safe  for  them  to 
open.  Sometimes  even  heavy  oaken  gates, 
strengthened  with  nails  and  bands  of  iron,  were 
not  enough  to  reassure  careful  folk,  who  did  not 
want  to  surrender  before  they  were  regularly 
besieged.  Narrow  loopholes  were  therefore 
worked  at  each  side  of  the  gate,  and  from  these, 
without  being  seen,  they  could  comfortably  rake 
the  assailants.  An  old  confidential  equerry  of 
the  countess,  after  examining  the  person  who 
had  presented  himself  through  some  such  a 
barred  wicket,  and  after  duly  interrogating  him, 
came  back  and  told  his  mistress  that  Captain 
George  de  Mergy  pressed  for  instant  admit- 
tance. All  fear  thus  passed  away,  and  the  gate 
was  opened. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  TWENTY-FOURTH  OF  AUGUST 

“Bleed  them!  bleed  them!”  ( Words  of  the  Marshal  de 
Tavannes.) 

AFTER  leaving  his  squadron,  Captain 
George  hastened  home,  hoping  to 
find  his  brother  there;  but  he  had  al- 
ready gone  out,  telling  his  servant  that  he  should 
be  away  all  night.  George  had  had  no  difficulty 
in  guessing  that  he  was  with  the  countess,  and 
had  made  all  haste  to  seek  him  there.  But  the 
massacre  had  already  begun ; and  the  tumult,  the 
throng  of  butchers,  and  the  chains  stretched 
across  the  streets,  checked  him  at  every  step.  He 
was  obliged  to  pass  by  the  Louvre,  and  there 
fanaticism  showed  its  madness  to  the  full.  Many 
Protestants  inhabited  the  quarter,  which  was  now 
invaded  by  the  Papist  citizens  and  the  soldiers 
of  the  Guards,  sword  and  torch  in  hand.  There, 
according  to  the  striking  expression  of  a con- 
temporary writer,  “ blood  ran  in  all  directions, 
seekings  its  way  to  the  river,”  * and  it  was  impos- 

* D’Aubigne,  “Histoire  Universelle.” 

258 


A CHRONICLE 


259 


sible  to  pass  along  the  streets  without  risk  of 
being  crushed  at  every  minute  by  corpses  flung 
from  the  windows.  By  a devilish  precaution, 
most  of  the  boats,  which  as  a rule  were  moored 
along  the  Louvre  front,  had  been  taken  across 
the  stream;  so  that  many  fugitives  who  ran  to 
the  Seine  bank,  hoping  there  to  take  boat  and 
escape  from  their  enemies’  blows,  found  no 
more  choice  but  betwixt  the  water  and  the  hal- 
berds of  the  soldiers  who  chased  them.  Mean- 
while, at  one  of  the  palace  windows,  men  saw, 
it  is  said,  Charles  IX.,  armed  with  a long  arque- 
buss,  and  “ potting  like  game  ”f  the  unfortunate 
passers-by. 

The  captain,  striding  over  dead  bodies  and 
splashing  himself  with  their  blood,  made  good 
his  way,  at  the  risk,  every  moment,  of  being 
sacrificed  to  some  assassin’s  mistake.  He  had 
noticed  that  every  soldier  and  armed  citizen 
wore  a white  scarf  on  his  arm  and  a white  cross 
in  his  hat.  He  might  easily  have  adopted  the 
badge ; but  his  horror  of  the  murderers  ex- 
tended even  to  the  signs  by  which  they  recog- 
nised each  other.  On  the  river  bank,  near  the 
Chatelet,  he  heard  his  name  called;  he  turned 
his  head,  and  saw  a man  who,  armed  to  the 
teeth,  but  apparently  making  no  use  of  his 

t Ibid.  [“Qui  giboyait.” — Translator .] 


260  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


weapons,  wore  the  white  cross  in  his  hat,  and 
was  twisting  a scrap  of  paper  in  his  fingers  with 
a wholly  unconcerned  air.  It  was  Beville, 
placidly  gazing  at  the  bodies,  dead  and  alive, 
which  were  being  flung  into  the  Seine  from  the 
Miller’s  Bridge. 

“ What  the  devil  are  you  doing  here, 
George?”  said  he.  “ Is  it  a miracle?  or  is  it 
special  grace  which  inspires  you  with  this  holy 
zeal?  for  you  look  as  if  you  had  joined  the  Hu- 
guenot hunt.” 

“ What  are  you  doing  yourself  amid  these 
wretches?”  answered  George. 

“ I?  I am  looking  on.  By  Jove!  it  is  some- 
thing to  see.  And  do  you  know,  I have  done  a 
good  stroke  of  business.  You  know  old  Michael 
Cornabon,  the  Huguenot  money-lender,  who 
has  plucked  me  so  clean?  ” 

“ Wretch!  have  you  killed  him?  ” 

“I?  fie  on  you!  I have  nothing  to  do  with 
religious  affairs.  So  far  from  killing  him,  I 
have  hidden  him  in  my  cellar,  and  for  his  part 
he  has  given  me  a receipt  in  full  for  all  I owe 
him.  Thus  I have  both  done  a noble  deed  and 
have  been  rewarded  therefor.  It  is  true  that, 
in  order  to  make  him  sign  the  receipt  more  easily, 
I had  to  hold  a pistol  twice  to  his  head ; but  may 
the  devil  take  me  if  I meant  to  pull  the  trigger. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  261 


Ah ! now : look  at  that  woman  who  has  caught  by 
her  skirts  on  one  of  the  bridge  beams.  She  will 
fall — no  she  won’t!  Plague  on  it,  that  is  a curi- 
ous sight,  and  deserves  to  be  looked  at  closer.” 

George  left  him,  and  as  he  did  so,  struck 
his  forehead,  crying,  “ And  to  think  that  that  is 
one  of  the  honestest  gentlemen  I know  in  this 
town  to-night ! ” 

He  now  set  foot  in  the  Rue  St.  Josse,  which 
was  deserted  and  dark:  clearly  none  of  the 
dwellers  there  were  Protestants.  Yet  the  noise 
from  the  neighbouring  streets  was  quite  dis- 
tinctly heard,  and  suddenly  the  ruddy  glow  of 
torches  lit  up  the  white  walls.  He  heard  pierc- 
ing cries,  and  saw  a woman,  who  fled  with  super- 
human speed,  half  naked,  with  dishevelled  hair, 
and  holding  a child  in  her  arms.  Pursuing  her 
were  two  men,  cheering  each  other  on  with 
savage  cries,  like  huntsmen  after  a wild  beast. 
She  was  just  about  to  rush  into  an  open  pas- 
sage, when  one  of  her  pursuers  fired  an  arque- 
buss,  with  which  he  was  armed,  at  her.  The  shot 
struck  her  in  the  back,  and  brought  her  down: 
but  she  rose  quickly,  made  one  step  towards 
George,  and  fell  once  more  on  her  knees.  Then, 
with  a supreme  effort,  she  lifted  her  child  to- 
wards the  captain,  as  though  relying  on  his  gen- 
erosity, and  died  without  a word. 


262  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ Another  heretic  baggage  down!  ” cried  the 
marksman ; “ I will  not  rest  till  I have  made  up 
the  dozen ! ” 

“Wretch!”  cried  the  captain,  and  he  fired 
a pistol  point-blank  at  him.  The  scoundrel’s  head 
struck  the  wall  hard  by,  his  eyes  gave  one  ter- 
rible glare,  and  his  heels  slipping  from  beneath 
him,  he  fell  like  a log  of  wood  with  its  support 
struck  away,  plump  and  stone-dead  on  the 
ground. 

“ What ! kill  a Catholic ! ” cried  his  com- 
panion, who  held  a torch  in  one  hand,  and  a 
bloody  sword  in  the  other.  “ Who  are  you? 
By  the  mass!  you  are  one  of  the  King’s  light 
horse!  Good  sir,  you  mistake!” 

The  captain  drew  a second  pistol  from  his 
belt,  and  cocked  it.  The  motion  and  the  click 
were  perfectly  understood,  and  the  murderer, 
dropping  his  torch,  fled  at  full  speed.  George, 
not  condescending  to  fire  after  him,  stooped, 
examined  the  woman  who  was  stretched  on  the 
ground,  and  saw  that  she  was  dead.  The  ball 
had  pierced  her  through  and  through;  but  her 
child,  whose  arms  clasped  his  mother’s  neck, 
wailed  and  wept : he  was  covered  with  blood,  but 
he  had  miraculously  escaped  a wound.  With 
some  difficulty  the  captain  tore  him  from  his 
mother,  to  whom  the  child  clung  with  all  his 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  263 


strength,  and  wrapped  him  up  in  his  own  cloak. 
Then,  taking  warning  by  the  recent  brush,  he 
picked  up  the  dead  man’s  hat,  and  taking  the 
white  cross  out  of  it  placed  it  on  his  own.  In 
which  fashion  he  made  his  way  without  further 
hindrance  to  the  countess’s  house. 

The  two  brothers  fell  into  each  other’s  arms, 
and  for  some  time  remained  in  this  embrace 
without  speaking.  At  last  the  captain  in  few 
words  described  the  state  of  the  town.  Bernard, 
cursing  the  King,  the  Guises,  and  the  priests, 
expressed  his  anxiety  to  go  forth  and  to  seek  to 
join  his  brethren  in  the  faith,  on  the  chance  that 
they  might  somewhere  try  to  make  head  against 
their  enemies.  The  countess  wept  and  held  him 
back;  while  the  child  cried  and  asked  for  his 
mother. 

After  spending  a considerable  time  in  ex- 
clamations, groans,  and  tears,  they  felt  it  neces- 
sary to  fix  on  some  course  of  action.  As  for 
the  child,  the  countess’s  equerry  undertook  the 
business  of  finding  a woman  to  take  charge  of 
him.  It  was  impossible  for  Mergy  to  depart  at 
such  a moment;  and,  besides,  where  was  he  to 
go?  and  how  did  any  one  know  whether  or  no 
the  massacre  was  spreading  all  over  France? 
Strong  parties  had  certainly  occupied  the  bridges 
over  which  the  Protestants  might  have  passed 


264  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


into  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  and  thence  have 
escaped  from  the  town  and  gained  the  southern 
provinces,  always  inclined  to  their  cause.  On 
the  other  hand,  to  ask  the  King’s  mercy  at  a 
moment  when,  in  the  heat  of  slaughter,  he 
thought  of  nothing  but  new  victims,  seemed 
doubtfully  wise,  and  even  certainly  foolish. 
The  countess’s  house,  thanks  to  her  repute  for 
devotion,  was  not  likely  to  be  narrowly  searched 
by  the  murderers;  and  Diane  thought  she  might 
answer  for  her  own  people.  So  Mergy  could 
not  fix  on  any  place  of  retreat  where  he  ran 
less  risk,  and  it  was  decided  that  he  should  hide 
himself  there  and  see  what  would  happen. 

Daylight,  so  far  from  putting  a stop  to  the 
massacres,  seemed  only  to  increase  them  and 
make  them  more  businesslike.  Every  Catholic, 
under  penalty  of  being  suspected  of  heresy,  had 
to  mount  the  white  cross,  and  either  take  arms 
or  denounce  such  Huguenots  as  were  still  liv- 
ing. The  King,  shutting  himself  up  in  his 
palace,  gave  access  to  no  one  but  the  chiefs  of 
the  murderers;  the  populace,  induced  by  hope 
of  pillage,  had  joined  the  trained  bands  and  the 
soldiers ; while  preachers  in  the  churches  ex- 
horted the  faithful  to  redoubled  excesses  of 
cruelty.  “ Let  us,”  said  they,  “ once  for  all 
crush  the  hydra’s  heads,  and  for  ever  put  an 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  265 


end  to  civil  war!”  And,  in  order  to  persuade 
the  bloodthirsty  and  miracle-craving  mob  that 
heaven  approved  its  rage  and  had  encouraged  it 
by  a striking  prodigy,  “ Go,”  cried  they,  “ to  the 
Cemetery  of  the  Innocents;  go  and  see  the  haw- 
thorn which  has  just  blossomed  a second  time 
with  a new  and  vigorous  youth  as  having  been 
watered  with  heretic  blood!” 

Numerous  processions  of  armed  murderers 
marched  with  all  ceremony  to  worship  the  Holy 
Thorn,  and  left  the  cemetery  flushed  with  fresh 
zeal  to  discover  and  slay  those  whom  heaven  thus 
clearly  sentenced.  A saying  of  Catherine’s  was 
in  every  mouth,  and  was  repeated  by  those  who 
were  butchering  women  and  children:  “Che 
pieta  lor  ser  crudele,  che  crudelta  lor  ser 
pietoso  "■ — “ To-day  there  is  mercy  in  being 
cruel;  there  is  cruelty  in  being  merciful.” 

Strange  to  say,  though  there  were  few 
among  all  these  Protestants  who  had  not  seen 
war — who  had  not  taken  part  in  desperate  bat- 
tles, where  they  had  endeavoured,  and  often  suc- 
cessfully, to  make  valour  atone  for  want  of  num- 
bers— yet  during  this  butchery  two  only  at- 
tempted any  resistance  to  their  murderers.  Of 
these  two,  one  only  was  a soldier.  It  may  be  that 
the  habit  of  fighting  in  bodies,  and  after  a reg- 
ular fashion,  had  robbed  them  of  the  individual 


266  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


energy  which  might  have  prompted  each  Hugue- 
not to  defend  himself  in  his  house  as  in  a castle. 
But  old  warriors  were  seen,  like  victims  devoted 
to  sacrifice,  holding  out  their  throats  to  rascals 
who,  the  day  before,  would  have  trembled  before 
them — taking,  as  it  were,  resignation  for  cour- 
age, and  preferring  the  renown  of  martyrs  to  a 
soldier’s  honourable  death. 

When  the  first  thirst  of  blood  was  quenched, 
the  more  merciful  of  the  butchers  commonly 
offered  life  to  their  victims  at  the  price  of  ab- 
juration; but  a very  small  number  of  Calvinists 
availed  themselves  of  the  offer,  and  consented 
to  ransom  themselves  from  death  and  torture  by 
a perhaps  excusable  falsehood.  Even  women 
and  children  repeated  their  confession  of  faith 
beneath  the  drawn  swords  and  died  without  a 
murmur. 

After  two  days  of  such  slaughter  the  King 
tried  to  stop  it;  but  when  the  reins  have  been 
thrown  on  the  neck  of  popular  passions  it  is 
impossible  to  check  them.  Not  only  did  the  dag- 
gers continue  active,  hut  the  King  himself,  ac- 
cused of  unorthodox  compassion,  was  obliged  to 
withdraw  his  suggestion  of  mercy,  and  even  to 
exaggerate  the  malevolence  which  at  all  times 
was  more  or  less  natural  to  his  character. 

During  the  first  few  days  after  the  Saint 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  267 


Bartholomew  Mergy  was  regularly  visited  in 
his  hiding-place  by  his  brother,  who  gave  him 
each  time  fresh  particulars  of  the  horrible  scenes 
he  had  witnessed. 

4 4 Ah!  when  shall  I be  able  to  quit  this  coun- 
try of  crime  and  murder?  ” cried  George.  44 1 
would  rather  live  among  wild  beasts  than  among 
Frenchmen.” 

44  Come  with  me  to  La  Rochelle,”  said 
Mergy;  44 1 have  good  hope  that  the  assassins 
have  not  won  it  yet.  Come  and  die  with  me,  ob- 
literating your  apostasy  by  defending  the  last 
bulwark  of  our  faith.” 

44  Ah ! and  what  is  to  become  of  me  ? ” Diane 
would  cry. 

44  Then  let  us  go  to  Germany  or  England,” 
answered  George.  44  There,  at  any  rate,  we  need 
be  neither  murdered  nor  murderers.” 

But  nothing  came  of  these  schemes.  George 
was  thrown  into  prison  for  disobedience  to  the 
King’s  orders;  and  the  countess,  in  terror  lest 
her  lover  should  be  discovered,  had  no  thought 
but  how  to  get  him  out  of  Paris. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  TWO  MONKS 


“And  thus  they  made  of  him  a monk 
By  putting  a cowl  upon  him.” 

Folk-Song  * 

IN  a tavern  on  the  banks  of  the  Loire,  not 
far  from  Orleans,  as  you  go  down  towards 
Beaugency,  a young  monk,  in  a brown 
robe  with  a large  hood  half -drawn  over  his  face, 
was  seated  before  a table,  his  eyes  fixed  on  his 
breviary  with  the  most  edifying  attention,  though 
the  corner  which  he  had  chosen  was  a little  dark 
for  reading  in.  He  had  at  his  girdle  a rosary, 
the  beads  of  which  were  rather  larger  than 
pigeons’  eggs,  while  an  abundant  supply  of 
medals,  with  the  effigies  of  saints,  were  hung  to 
the  same  girdle,  and  clinked  at  every  movement 
that  he  made.  When  he  lifted  his  head  to  look 
in  the  direction  of  the  door,  there  might  have 
been  seen  a very  well-shaped  mouth,  adorned 
with  a moustache  twisted  into  the  shape  of  a 

* “Lui  mettant  un  Capuchon 
11s  en  firent  un  moine.” 

Chanson  Populaire. — [Translator’s  Note,] 
268 


A CHRONICLE 


269 


Turkish  bow,  and  modish  enough  to  do  credit  to 
a captain  of  gendarmes.  His  hands  were  very 
white,  his  nails  long  and  carefully  trimmed;  nor 
was  there  any  sign  to  show  that  the  young  broth- 
er had  ever,  as  by  the  rule  of  his  order  he  should 
have  done,  wielded  a spade  or  a rake. 

A plump  and  chubby-cheeked  peasant  wom- 
an, who  doubled  the  parts  of  waitress  and  cook 
in  the  tavern,  being  also  the  mistress  herself, 
drew  near  the  young  monk,  and  curtseying  awk- 
wardly, said: 

“ Well,  father,  are  you  going  to  order  some- 
thing for  your  dinner?  Do  you  know  that  it  is 
past  noon?  ” 

“ Will  the  Beaugency  boat  be  long  before  it 
is  here?  ” answered  he. 

“ Who  knows?  ” said  she.  “ The  water  is 
low,  and  they  can  not  take  their  own  time.  Be- 
sides, anyhow,  it  is  not  due  yet.  I should  dine 
here  if  I were  you.” 

“ So  I will:  but  have  you  no  other  room  than 
this  to  eat  in?  There  is  a smell  here  that  I do 
not  like.” 

“ You  are  very  particular,  father.  I can  not 
smell  anything  at  all.” 

“ Then  are  you  singeing  pigs  close  to  the 
inn?  ” 

“Pigs?  Ha!  ha!  That  is  funny.  Pigs? 


270  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


Yes ; or  something  like  it.  They  are  pigs  in  their 
way,  for,  as  the  saying  is,  they  were  dressed  in 
silk  * in  their  lifetime;  but  they  are  not  pigs  good 
to  eat.  These,  saving  your  reverence,  father, 
are  Huguenots  whom  they  are  burning  on  the 
river  bank,  some  hundred  yards  off,  and  it  is 
the  scent  of  them  that  you  perceive.” 

“ Huguenots?  ” 

“ Yes,  Huguenots.  Do  you  mind  that?  It 
need  not  take  away  your  appetite.  And  as  for 
changing  your  dining-room,  I have  no  other;  so 
you  must  make  the  best  of  this.  Ah!  the  smell 
of  roasted  Huguenot  is  not  so  bad!  Besides, 
if  they  were  not  burnt  they  might  smell  worse. 
There  was  a heap  of  them  on  the  bank  this 
morning — a heap  as  high  as  our  chimney-piece!  ” 
“ And  do  you  go  and  look  at  these  corpses?  ” 
“ Ah,  you  mean  because  they  were  naked? 
Dead  men  do  not  count,  holy  father;  I did  not 
think  any  more  of  them  than  if  I had  seen  a 
heap  of  dead  frogs.  But  all  the  same,  they 
must  have  done  a fine  business  at  Orleans  yester- 
day, for  the  Loire  has  brought  us  shoals  of  these 
heretic  fish ; and  as  the  river  is  low  they  are  found 
high  and  dry  on  the  shingle  every  day.  Why 
yesterday,  when  our  miller’s  man  looked  to  see 

* [A  play,  not  by  any  device  to  be  kept  in  English,  between  soie  “silk,” 
and  soie  “pig’s  bristle.”] — Translator's  Note. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  271 


how  many  tench  were  in  his  net,  look  you,  there 
was  a dead  woman  in  it,  with  a halberd  wound 
right  in  the  middle  of  her!  It  went  in  at  her 
waist  and  came  out  at  her  shoulders.  Marry, 
but  he  would  rather  have  found  a fine  carp 
though!  But  what  is  the  matter  with  your  rev- 
erence? Are  you  going  to  swoon?  Shall  I fill 
you  a cup  of  Beaugency  wine  while  you  wait 
for  your  dinner?  That  will  set  you  right  inside.” 
“ Thank  you,  no.” 

“ Well  then,  what  will  you  have  for  dinner?  ” 
“ Whatever  comes  to  hand — I care  little.” 
“Yes;  but  what?  My  larder  is  well  fur- 
nished, look  you ! ” 

“Well  then,  give  me  a chicken,  and  leave  me 
to  read  my  breviary.” 

“A  chicken!  your  reverence.  A chicken! 
that  is  a pretty  thing ! The  spiders  need  not  look 
to  weave  their  webs  over  your  teeth  on  fast  days. 
Have  you  got  a dispensation  from  the  Pope  to 
eat  chickens  on  Friday?  ” 

“Bah!  how  absent-minded  I am!”  said  he. 
“Of  course,  to-day  is  Friday.  ‘ On  Friday  thou 
shalt  not  eat  flesh.’  Give  me  some  eggs,  and  take 
my  best  thanks  for  reminding  me  in  time  to 
prevent  so  great  a sin.” 

“ Look  you  now,”  said  the  hostess  half  to 
herself,  “ these  gentry  will  eat  chickens  on  a 


272  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 

I 

fast  day  if  you  do  not  remind  them,  and  yet 
will  make  a fuss  to  make  your  blood  run  cold 
if  they  find  a morsel  of  bacon  in  poor  folks’ 
broth!”  Which  said,  she  set  to  work  to  cook 
her  eggs,  and  the  monk  returned  to  his  breviary. 

“ Ave  Maria!  my  sister,”  said  another  monk, 
who  entered  the  tavern  at  the  very  moment  that 
Dame  Marguerite,  frying-pan  handle  in  hand, 
was  about  to  turn  an  omelet  of  large  dimen- 
sions. 

The  newcomer  was  a handsome  old  man, 
grey-bearded,  tall,  strongly  made,  and  stout. 
His  face  was  very  highly  complexioned ; but  its 
most  remarkable  feature  was  a huge  patch, 
which  hid  one  eye  and  half  covered  the  cheek. 
He  spoke  French  glibly  enough,  but  with  a 
slight  though  noticeable  foreign  accent. 

As  he  came  in  the  younger  monk  drew  his 
hood  still  closer,  so  that  his  face  could  not  be 
seen;  but  Dame  Marguerite  was  even  more  sur- 
prised to  perceive  that  the  last  comer,  who  had 
thrown  his  hood  back  because  of  the  heat,  pulled 
it  on  the  moment  that  he  had  spied  his  brother  in 
orders. 

“ Faith,  father,”  said  the  hostess,  “ you  have 
come  in  the  nick  of  time  for  dinner.  You  will 
not  have  to  wait,  and  you  will  find  yourself 
among  friends.”  Then  turning  to  the  younger 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  273 


monk,  “ You  will  be  delighted,  your  reverence, 
will  you  not,  to  dine  with  his  reverence  here? 
The  smell  of  my  omelet  has  brought  him, 
and  no  wonder,  for  by  Our  Lady  I do  not  spare 
butter.” 

The  young  monk  replied  shyly  and  stammer- 
ing, “ I am  afraid  I shall  be  in  the  gentleman’s 
way;”  while  the  elder,  stooping  his  head  still 
lower,  answered,  “ I am  a poor  monk  of  Alsace; 
I speak  French  badly,  and  I fear  my  company 
will  not  please  my  brother.” 

“Come,  come!”  cried  Dame  Marguerite; 
“how  polite  you  both  are!  Monks,  and  monks 
of  the  same  order,  ought  to  have  but  one  board 
and  one  bed,”  and  she  thrust  a stool  up  to  the 
table,  right  opposite  the  young  friar.  The  elder 
seated  himself,  apparently  much  embarrassed, 
and  struggling  between  hunger  and  a certain 
dislike  to  face  his  colleague.  She  dished  the 
omelet,  and  said,  “ Now,  good  fathers,  be  quick 
with  your  grace,  and  then  tell  me  whether  my 
omelet  is  good.” 

But  the  mere  word  “ grace  ” seemed  to  put 
the  two  monks  still  less  at  their  ease.  The 
younger  said  to  the  elder,  “It  is  for  you  to  say 
grace.  You  are  my  senior,  and  the  honour  is 
yours.” 

“ Nay,”  quoth  he,  “ not  at  all.  You  were 


274  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


here  before  me,  and  you  have  the  right  to 
say  it.” 

“ I pray  you  set  me  the  example.” 

“ I could  not  think  of  doing  so.” 

“ But  really  you  must.” 

“Look  at  them,”  said  Dame  Marguerite; 
“ they  will  let  my  omelet  get  cold ! Did  any  one 
ever  see  two  of  Saint  Francis’s  children  so 
scrupulous?  Let  the  old  one  bless  the  meat,  and 
the  young  one  shall  give  thanks  afterwards. 

“ I can  only  say  grace  in  my  own  tongue,” 
said  the  old  monk.  The  younger  looked  much 
surprised,  and  stole  a glance  at  his  companion. 
He,  however,  clasping  his  hands  most  devoutly, 
began  to  mutter  in  his  hood  certain  words  which 
conveyed  no  meaning  to  any  one,  then  he  sat 
down,  and,  without  another  word,  he  had  in  no 
time  devoured  three  parts  of  the  omelet  and 
drained  the  bottle  set  before  him.  His  fellow, 
with  his  nose  in  his  plate,  never  opened  his  mouth, 
save  to  eat ; and  when  the  omelet  was  finished  he 
rose,  clasped  his  hands,  and  uttered  hastily,  slur- 
ring them  over,  certain  Latin  words,  the  last  of 
which  were  et  beata  viscera  virginis  Marice. 
Marguerite  heard  these  last,  and  these  only. 

“What  a queer  grace  (with  reverence  be  it 
spoken)  you  said  then,  father?  It  is  not  like 
those  that  our  cure  says.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  275 


“ That  is  the  grace  used  in  our  convent,”  said 
the  young  Franciscan. 

“ Will  the  boat  soon  come?  ” said  the  elder. 

“Patience!”  answered  Dame  Marguerite; 
“ it  is  not  nearly  here  yet.” 

The  younger  monk  seemed  to  be  vexed,  as 
far  as  could  be  judged  by  a twitch  of  his  head. 
But  he  did  not  make  the  slightest  remark;  and 
taking  up  his  breviary,  began  to  read  it  with 
increased  attention.  The  Alsatian,  on  his  part, 
turned  his  back  to  his  companion,  and  began  to 
pass  the  beads  of  his  rosary  between  his  finger 
and  thumb,  moving  his  lips,  but  without  pro- 
ducing the  least  sound  from  them. 

“ These  are  the  strangest  and  most  silent 
monks  that  ever  I saw,”  thought  Dame  Mar- 
guerite, sitting  down  to  her  wheel,  which  she  soon 
set  going. 

No  sound  save  the  whirring  of  the  wheel  had 
broken  the  silence  for  a good  quarter  of  an  hour, 
when  four  ill-looking  fellows,  well  armed,  en- 
tered the  inn.  They  touched  their  hats  slightly 
at  sight  of  the  monks,  and  one  of  them,  address- 
ing Marguerite  familiarly  as  “my  little  Meg,” 
bade  her  give  them  wine  at  once  and  dinner 
soon.  “ For,”  said  he,  “ the  moss  is  growing  in 
my  throat,  so  long  is  it  since  my  jaws  were  in 
motion.” 


276  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“Wine?  wine?”  grumbled  Marguerite; 
“ that  is  easily  said,  Master  Bois-Dauphin,  but 
are  you  going  to  pay  the  shot?  Jack  Trust-Me 
is  dead,  you  know;  and  besides,  you  owe  me 
already,  for  wine,  dinners,  and  suppers,  six 
crowns  and  more,  as  I am  an  honest  woman.” 

“ The  one  thing  is  as  true  as  the  other,”  said 
Bois-Dauphin  laughing;  “ that  is  to  say,  Mother 
Meg,  I owe  you  two  crowns,  and  not  a penny 
more.”  His  actual  words  were  somewhat 
stronger  than  these. 

“ O Jesus!  O Mary!  how  can  you  say 
so?” 

“ Come,  come,  no  noise,  old  lady.  Let  it 
be  six  crowns,  if  you  like.  I will  pay  you,  Mag- 
gie, and  our  score  torday  as  well,  for  I have  the 
chinks  in  my  pocket,  though  this  present  busi- 
ness is  a scurvy  one  for  profit.  I can  not  think 
what  the  racsals  do  with  their  money.” 

“ Perhaps  they  swallow  it,  like  the  Germans,” 
said  one  of  his  comrades. 

“ A plague!  ” cried  Bois-Dauphin;  “ we  must 
look  to  that.  Good  coins  in  a heretic  carcass 
are  a good  joke,  but  not  one  that  ought  to  be 
thrown  to  the  dogs.” 

“ How  the  minister’s  daughter  shrieked  this 
morning,”  said  the  third  fellow. 

“Yes!  and  the  fat  parson  too!”  added  the 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  277 


fourth.  4 4 How  I did  laugh  at  him ! he  was  so 
fat  he  would  not  sink.” 

“ Then  you  worked  hard  to-day?  ” said  Mar- 
guerite, coming  back  from  the  cellar  with  her 
bottles  full. 

44  Pretty  fair,”  said  Bois-Dauphin.  44  What 
with  men,  women,  and  children,  we  made  up  a 
dozen,  thrown  into  the  water  or  into  the  fire. 
But  the  worst  of  it  was,  Maggie,  that  they  had 
not  a rap:  except  the  woman,  who  had  some 
trinkets,  the  whole  bag  was  not  worth  a hound’s 
four  shoes.  Yes,  father,”  added  he,  addressing 
the  younger  monk,  44  we  earned  plenty  of  in- 
dulgences this  morning  by  killing  your  enemies, 
the  dog  heretics.” 

The  monk  gazed  at  him  a moment,  and  then 
returned  to  his  reading ; but  his  breviary  quivered 
in  his  left  hand,  and  his  right  was  clenched  like 
that  of  a man  in  strong  emotion. 

44  And  talking  of  indulgences,”  said  Bois- 
Dauphin,  turning  to  his  comrades,  44  do  you 
know  I should  like  one  to  eat  meat  to-day? 
There  are  some  chickens  in  our  dame’s  poultry- 
yard  which  are  desperately  tempting.” 

44  Let  us  eat  them,”  said  one  of  the  wretches; 
44  we  shall  not  be  damned  for  that.  We  will 
go  to  confession  to-morrow,  and  that  will  make 
it  right.” 


278  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“Listen,  brothers,”  said  another;  “I  have 
an  idea;  let  us  ask  these  plump  f rocked  gentry 
here  to  give  us  a license  for  meat.” 

“ As  if  they  could ! ” said  his  comrade. 

“By  Our  Lady’s  body!”  cried  Bois-Dau- 
phin,  “ I know  a better  way  than  that,  and  I’ll 
whisper  it  to  you.” 

The  four  rascals  laid  their  heads  together, 
and  Bois-Dauphin  explained  to  them,  in  an  un- 
dertone, his  plan,  which  was  received  with  shouts 
of  laugther.  But  one  of  the  bravos  seemed 
to  hesitate. 

“ That  is  an  ill  device  of  yours,  Bois- 
Dauphin,”  said  he,  “ and  it  may  bring  us  bad 
luck.  I will  not  make  one.” 

“Hold  your  tongue,  Guillemain!  ’Tis  a 
mighty  sin,  forsooth,  to  make  a man  smell  the 
blade  of  a dagger.” 

“Yes;  but  a shaveling!  ” 

They  were  conversing  in  a low  tone,  and  the 
two  monks  seemed  to  be  trying  to  guess  their 
topic  of  conversation  by  the  words  caught  here 
and  there. 

“Bah!  it  makes  no  difference,”  replied  Bois- 
Dauphin  speaking  a little  louder;  “ and  besides, 
in  this  way  the  sin  will  lie  on  him  not  on 
me.” 

“ Yes,  yes!  Bois-Dauphin  is  right,”  cried  the 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  279 


other.  So  he  rose  at  once  and  left  the  room.  A 
moment  later  the  poultry  were  heard  making  a 
noise,  and  the  ruffian  soon  reappeared  with  a 
dead  chicken  in  each  hand. 

“Ah!  son  of  perdition!”  cried  Dame  Mar- 
guerite; “kill  my  chickens,  and  on  Friday  too? 
What  are  you  going  to  do  with  them,  wretch?  ” 

“ Hold  your  tongue,  Dame  Maggie,  and 
don’t  make  my  ears  burn.  You  know  that  I 
am  an  ugly  customer.  Get  your  spits  ready  and 
leave  me  alone.”  Then,  drawing  near  to  the 
Alsatian  friar,  he  said,  “Now,  father,  you  see 
these  two  animals?  I want  you  to  be  so  good 
as  to  christen  them.” 

The  monk  started  back  in  surprise;  his  rev- 
erend brother  closed  his  book,  and  Dame  Mar- 
guerite showered  strong  language  on  Bois- 
Dauphin. 

“ You  want  me  to  christen  them?  ” said  the 
monk. 

“ Yes,  my  father.  I will  be  their  godfather, 
Meg  here  shall  be  godmother;  and  these  are 
the  names  I give  my  godchildren;  this  shall  be 
called  Carp,  and  this  Perch.  There  be  two  very 
pretty  names.” 

“ Christen  chickens?  ” cried  the  monk  with  a 
laugh. 

“ Yes,  father.  Come,  set  to  work.” 


280  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ Wretch!  ” cried  Marguerite,  “ do  you  think 
I will  allow  such  work  as  this  in  my  house?  Do 
you  think  you  are  among  Jews,  or  at  a witch’s 
sabbath,  that  you  christen  beasts?  ” 

“ Take  this  chatterbox  off  me,”  said  Bois- 
Dauphin  to  his  fellows;  “ and  as  for  you,  father, 
perhaps  you  could  read  the  name  of  the  cutler 
who  forged  this  blade?  ” 

As  he  spoke  he  passed  his  bare  poniard  under 
the  old  monk’s  nose.  The  younger  half  rose  on 
his  bench,  but  almost  immediately,  as  though 
after  discreet  reflection,  he  sat  down  again,  de- 
termined to  abide  patiently. 

“ But  how  am  I to  baptize  poultry,  my  son?  ” 
said  the  elder. 

“Easily  enough,  God  wot;  just  as  you 
baptize  us  of  woman  born.  Sprinkle  their  heads 
with  water,  and  say : ‘ I baptize  thee,  Carp,  and 
thee,  Perch.’  Only  say  it  in  your  own  jargon. 
Come,  Little- John,  hand  over  that  glass  of 
water,  and,  all  of  ye,  hats  off  and  attend  piously 
in  God’s  name.” 

To  the  general  surprise  the  old  cordelier  took 
some  water,  shed  it  on  the  fowls’  heads,  and  pro- 
nouncing very  rapidly  and  very  indistinctly 
something  which  sounded  like  a prayer,  ended 
with  baptizo  te  Carpam  et  Percham.  Then  he 
sat  down  again,  and  told  his  beads  once  more 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  281 


with  great  tranquillity,  as  if  he  had  done  some- 
thing quite  in  the  common  way.  Dame  Mar- 
guerite stood  dumb  with  amazement;  but  Bois- 
Dauphin  was  in  his  glory.  “ Come,  Meg!  ” said 
he,  throwing  the  chickens  to  her,  “ dress  us  this 
carp  and  this  perch.  They  will  make  a capital 
fast-day  dinner.”  But  notwithstanding  the 
baptism,  Dame  Marguerite  still  refused  to  con- 
sider them  fit  food  for  Christians,  and  the 
ruffians  had  to  threaten  her  with  personal  vio- 
lence before  she  could  make  up  her  mind  to 
spit  the  improvised  fishes. 

Bois-Dauphin  and  his  companions  meanwhile 
drank  copiously,  toasting  healths,  and  making 
a great  clatter. 

“ Listen,”  said  Bois-Dauphin  at  last,  smiting 
the  table  hard  to  enjoin  silence.  “ I am  going  to 
drink  a health  to  our  Holy  Father  the  Pope  and 
death  to  all  Huguenots.  These  two  cowled  gen- 
try and  Dame  Marguerite  shall  join  us.” 

The  suggestion  was  received  by  his  comrades 
with  applause,  and  he  rose,  staggering  some- 
what ( for  he  was  more  than  half  drunk  already) , 
and  filled  the  young  monk’s  glass  from  the  bot- 
tle in  his  hand. 

“ Come,  good  father,”  said  he,  “ to  the  Holi- 
ness of  his  health!  Bah!  a slip  of  the  tongue. 
To  the  health  of  his  Holiness,  and  to  the 
death ” 


282  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ I never  drink  between  meals,”  said  the 
young  man  coolly. 

“Ah!  but  you  shall  drink  now,  devil  take 
me!  or  tell  the  reason  why.” 

So  speaking,  he  set  the  bottle  on  the  table, 
and  seizing  the  glass,  held  it  to  the  lips  of  the 
monk,  who  was  leaning  over  his  breviary  in 
great  apparent  calm.  Some  drops  of  wine  fell 
on  the  book.  Then  the  monk  rose,  clutched  the 
glass,  and  instead  of  drinking  it,  flung  its  con- 
tents full  in  Bois-Dauphin’s  face. 

The  company  roared  with  laughter;  and  the 
monk,  his  back  to  the  wall,  and  his  arms  crossed, 
gazed  at  the  ruffian. 

“Do  you  know,  little  father,  that  I do  not 
like  that  joke?  By  God ! if  you  were  not  a monk, 
I would  pay  you,  by  teaching  you  to  know  with 
whom  you  are  dealing.”  And  as  he  spoke,  he 
thrust  his  hand  close  to  the  young  man’s  face, 
and  just  twitched  his  moustache  with  his  finger 
ends. 

Then  the  monk’s  countenance  flamed  scarlet. 
With  one  hand  he  collared  the  insolent  scoundrel, 
and  with  the  other  he  grasped  the  bottle  and 
smashed  it  on  Bois-Dauphin’s  head  with  such 
force  that  he  fell  senseless  on  the  floor,  drenched 
at  once  with  wine  and  blood. 

“ Well  done,  my  boy!  ” cried  the  old  monk. 
“ You  have  a heavy  hand  for  one  of  the  cloth!  ” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  283 


“ Bois-Dauphin  is  killed!”  cried  the  three 
assassins,  seeing  that  their  comrade  did  not  stir. 
“ Scoundrel ! We  will  curry  your  hide  f or  you ! ” 
and  they  grasped  their  swords.  But  the  young 
monk,  with  surprising  alertness,  tucked  up  the 
long  sleeves  of  his  gown,  got  possession  of  Bois- 
Dauphin’s  sword,  and  threw  himself  into  a 
posture  of  defence,  in  the  most  resolute  way  in 
the  world.  At  the  same  moment,  his  brother 
monk  drew  from  beneath  his  cassock  a dagger 
with  a blade  half-a-yard  long,  and  took  position 
by  the  other’s  side  with  an  air  not  less  soldierly. 
“ Now,  blackguards!  ” cried  he,  “ we  will  teach 
you  how  to  behave,  and  give  you  a lesson  in  your 
own  business.”  And  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye 
the  three  scoundrels,  wounded  or  disarmed,  were 
driven  to  jump  through  the  window. 

“ Jesu  Maria!”  cried  Dame  Marguerite, 
“ you  are  stout  men-at-arms,  holy  fathers!  You 
do  religion  credit!  Still  there  is  a man  killed, 
and  that  is  awkward  for  my  house’s  reputation.” 

“Not  a bit  of  it,”  said  the  old  monk.  “ He 
is  not  killed.  I see  him  wriggling.  But  I will 
give  him  extreme  unction.”  Then,  drawing  near 
the  wounded  man,  he  caught  him  by  his  hair,  set 
the  edge  of  the  dagger  to  his  throat,  and  would 
have  cut  his  head  off  if  Dame  Marguerite  and 
his  fellow  monk  had  not  stopped  him. 


284  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“Good  God!”  said  Marguerite,  “what  are 
you  doing?  Kill  a man?  And  a man  who  passes 
for  a good  Catholic? — though,  as  you  have  seen, 
he  is  nothing  of  the  kind.” 

“ I guess,”  said  the  young  monk  to  his  broth- 
er, “ that  urgent  business  calls  you,  as  it  does  me, 
to  Beaugency.  There  is  the  boat;  let  us  lose  no 
time.” 

“You  are  right;  I am  with  you,”  said  he; 
and  wiping  his  dagger,  he  replaced  it  under  his 
gown.  Then  the  two  valiant  monks,  after  pay- 
ing their  score,  went  side  by  side  to  the  Loire, 
leaving  Bois-Dauphin  in  Marguerite’s  hands. 
She  began  by  rummaging  his  pockets,  and  pay- 
ing herself : then  she  set  to  work  to  pick  out  the 
bits  of  glass  with  which  his  face  bristled,  and  to 
dress  his  wounds  according  to  the  regular  fashion 
of  good  women  in  such  cases. 

“ Unless  I am  much  mistaken,  I have  seen 
you  somewhere,”  said  the  young  man  to  the  old 
Franciscan. 

“ And  may  the  devil  take  me  if  I do  not  know 

your  face  too.  But ” 

“ When  I saw  you  first  I do  not  think  you 
wore  that  cassock.” 

“ And  how  about  yourself?  ” 

“ Then  you  are  a captain ” 

“ Dietrich  Hornstein,  at  your  service.  And 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  285 


you  are  the  gentleman  with  whom  I dined  once 
near  Etampes?  ” 

“ I am.” 

“ Then  your  name  is  Mergy.” 

“ It  is:  but  not  just  now.  I am  Friar  Am- 
brose.” 

“ And  I am  Friar  Anthony  of  Alsace.” 

“ Very  well.  And  where  are  you  going?  ” 
“ To  La  Rochelle,  if  I can  get  there.” 

“ So  am  I.” 

“ I am  charmed  to  meet  you.  But,  the  devil ! 
you  put  me  in  a desperate  fix  with  your  ‘ grace  ’ ! 
I did  not  know  a word  of  it ; and  I took  you  for 
a real  monk  if  ever  there  was  one.” 

“ I can  return  the  compliment.” 

“ But  where  did  you  escape  from?  ” said 
Hornstein. 

“ From  Paris.  And  you?  ” 

“ From  Orleans;  I had  to  hide  for  more  than 
a week.  My  poor  troopers,  cornet  and  all,  are 
in  the  Loire.” 

“ And  Mila?  ” 

“ She  turned  Catholic.” 

“ And  my  horse,  captain?  ” 

“Ah:  your  horse?  Well,  I made  the  rascal 
trumpeter  who  robbed  you  run  the  gantlet. 
But  as  I did  not  know  where  you  lived,  I could 
not  send  the  horse  back;  and  so  you  see  I kept 


286 


A CHRONICLE 


him  till  I should  have  the  honour  of  meeting 
you.  Now,  no  doubt,  he  belongs  to  some  scoun- 
drelly Papist.” 

“ Hush,  captain!  Do  not  say  that  word  so 
loud.  But  come,  let  us  join  our  fortunes  to- 
gether, and  be  allies  as  we  were  just  now.” 

“ So  be  it:  as  long  as  Dietrich  Hornstein  has 
a drop  of  blood  in  his  veins  he  will  be  ready 
to  play  a good  knife  at  your  side.”  And  they 
struck  hands  thereon  joyfully. 

“ But  now  I think  on  it,  tell  me  what  they 
meant  with  their  chickens  and  their  Caryam, 
Percham?  Truly  these  Papists  are  a pack  of 
idiots.” 

“ Hush,  again!  here  is  the  boat.” 

Talking  thus,  they  came  to  the  vessel,  went 
on  board,  and  reached  Beaugency  without 
farther  accident,  except  meeting  divers  corpses 
of  their  brethren  in  the  faith  floating  on  the 
Loire. 

One  of  the  boatmen  observed  that  most  of 
these  corpses  floated  face  upwards.  “ They  are 
imploring  vengeance  from  heaven!”  whispered 
Mergy  to  the  captain  of  Reiters,  and  Dietrich 
squeezed  his  hand  in  answer. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  SIEGE  OF  LA  ROCHELLE 

“Still  hope  and  suffer  all  who  can!” 

Moore,  The  Fudge  Family. 

LA  ROCHELLE,  almost  the  entire  popu- 
lation of  which  professed  the  Reformed 
Faith,  was  at  this  time  a kind  of  capital 
to  the  provinces  of  the  south,  and  the  staunchest 
bulwark  of  the  Protestant  party.  Extensive  com- 
mercial relations  with  Spain  and  England  had 
brought  to  the  town  considerable  wealth  and  the 
spirit  of  independence  which  wealth  begets  and 
fosters.  The  inhabitants,  fishers  or  sailors  by 
trade,  not  uncommonly  privateersmen,  accus- 
tomed from  their  earliest  years  to  the  hazards  of 
an  adventurous  life,  were  imbued  with  an  energy 
which  stood  them  instead  of  discipline  and  prac- 
tice in  regular  war.  Therefore,  when  the  news 
of  the  massacre  of  the  24th  of  August  came,  the 
men  of  Rochelle  were  far  from  giving  themselves 
up  to  the  stolid  resignation  which,  seizing  upon 
most  Protestants,  had  made  them  despair  of  their 
cause;  but  were,  on  the  contrary,  inflamed  with 

that  active  and  formidable  courage  which  despair 

287 


288  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


sometimes  supplies.  With  one  accord  they  made 
up  their  minds  to  stand  the  last  extremities,  rather 
than  open  their  gates  to  an  enemy  who  had  just 
given  so  striking  a proof  of  perfidious  savagery. 
While  the  ministers  fed  the  flames  of  this  zeal 
by  fanatical  preachings,  women,  children,  and 
old  men  vied  with  each  other  in  working  at  the 
repair  of  the  old  fortifications  and  the  construc- 
tion of  new  ones.  Provisions  and  arms  were  col- 
lected; boats  and  ships  were  put  in  commission; 
in  short,  not  a moment  was  lost  in  getting  into 
order  all  the  means  of  defence  which  the  city 
possessed.  Many  gentlemen  who  had  escaped  the 
massacres  came  to  join  the  Rochellese,  and  in- 
spired the  most  timid  with  courage  by  the  picture 
which  they  drew  of  the  atrocities  of  Saint  Bar- 
tholomew. To  men  who  had  just  escaped  a seem- 
ingly certain  death  the  chances  of  ordinary  war 
were  like  a capful  of  wind  to  sailors  who  have 
just  weathered  a hurricane.  Mergy  and  his  com- 
panion were  among  the  number  of  the  fugitives 
who  thus  came  to  swell  the  garrison  of  La 
Rochelle. 

The  Court  of  Paris,  alarmed  by  these  prepar- 
ations, regretted  that  it  had  not  anticipated  them, 
and  the  Marshal  de  Biron  approached  Rochelle 
bearing  proposals  for  an  understanding.  The 
King  had  some  ground  for  hoping  that  his  choice 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  289 


of  Biron  would  please  the  Rochellese;  for  the 
marshal  had  not  only  taken  no  part  in  the  mas- 
sacre of  Saint  Batholomew,  but  had  saved  several 
distinguished  Protestants,  and  had  even  levelled 
the  guns  of  the  Arsenal,  where  he  commanded,  at 
assassins  bearing  the  royal  cognizance.  His  only 
demand  was  to  be  received  into  the  town  and 
acknowledged  there  as  the  King’s  governor,  with 
a promise  to  respect  all  the  rights  and  privileges 
of  the  inhabitants,  and  to  leave  them  the  free 
exercise  of  their  religion.  But  how  was  it  pos- 
sible again  to  put  faith  in  Charles  IX.’s  promises 
after  the  slaughter  of  sixty  thousand  Protes- 
tants? Besides,  during  the  very  course  of  the 
negotiations,  the  massacres  continued  at  Bor- 
deaux, Biron’s  soldiery  plundered  the  territory  of 
Rochelle,  and  a royal  fleet  seized  merchant  ships 
and  blockaded  the  port. 

The  Rochellese  refused  admission  to  Biron, 
and  answered  that  they  could  not  negotiate  with 
the  King  so  long  as  he  remained  the  Guises’ 
prisoner:  perhaps  because  they  really  believed 
that  this  family  was  the  sole  author  of  the  woes 
of  Calvinism,  perhaps  because  by  a fiction,  often 
repeated  since,  they  wished  to  set  at  ease  the 
consciences  of  those  who  might  otherwise  have 
held  that  loyalty  to  the  King  ought  to  have  the 
precedence  over  sectarian  interests.  Thencefor- 


290  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


ward  an  understanding  became  impossible.  Yet 
the  King  bethought  him  of  another  agent,  and 
sent  La  Noue. 

La  Noue,  surnamed  Iron-arm,  because  of  an 
artificial  arm  with  which  he  had  replaced  one 
lost  in  battle,  was  a zealous  Calvinist,  who  in  the 
late  civil  wars  had  shown  the  utmost  courage  and 
great  military  skill.  The  Admiral,  whose  friend 
he  was,  had  had  no  more  able  and  no  more  faith- 
ful lieutenant.  At  the  time  of  the  massacre  he 
was  in  the  Netherlands  organizing  the  irregular 
bands  of  insurgent  Flemings  against  the  Spanish 
forces.  Ill-served  by  fortune,  he  had  been  ob- 
liged to  yield  himself  prisoner  to  the  Duke  of 
Alva,  by  whom  he  had  been  kindly  treated. 
Later,  and  when  the  vast  effusion  of  blood  had 
excited  some  remorse,  Charles  IX.  demanded 
him  from  the  Spaniards,  and,  contrary  to  expec- 
tation, gave  him  a most  flattering  reception.  The 
King,  always  in  extremes,  heaped  favours  on  one 
Protestant  just  after  he  had  caused  the  murder 
of  scores  of  thousands.  Indeed,  La  Noue’s  fate 
seemed  to  be  under  some  special  Providence,  for  he 
had  already  been  made  prisoner  twice  during  the 
third  civil  war,  once  at  Jarnac  and  once  at  Mont- 
contour,  and  had  on  each  occasion  been  set  free 
without  ransom  by  the  King’s  brother,*  against 
the  representations  of  many  of  his  officers,  who 

* The  Duke  of  Anjou,  afterwards  Henri  HI. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  291 


urged  him  to  make  an  example  of  a man  too 
dangerous  to  be  spared  and  too  honest  to  be 
corrupted.  Charles  thought  that  La  Noue  would 
be  mindful  of  his  clemency,  and  intrusted  him 
with  the  task  of  exhorting  the  Rochellese  to  sub- 
mit. La  Noue  accepted  the  commission  (stipu- 
lating, however,  that  the  King  should  not  demand 
of  him  anything  dishonourable),  and  set  out  ac- 
companied by  an  Italian  priest,  whose  duty  was 
to  keep  an  eye  on  his  conduct. 

From  the  very  first  he  had  the  mortification 
of  finding  that  he  was  not  trusted.  He  could  not 
gain  admission  to  La  Rochelle;  but  a village  in 
the  neighbourhood  was  designated  as  a place  of 
conference,  and  here,  at  Tadon,  he  met  the  depu- 
ties of  the  city.  He  knew  them  all  as  a man 
knows  his  old  brethern  in  arms ; but  when  he  ap- 
peared not  a man  held  out  the  hand  of  friendship 
to  him,  not  a man  appeared  even  to  know  who  he 
was.  He  had  to  announce  himself,  and  then  set 
forth  the  King’s  proposals,  the  substance  of  his 
speech  being,  “Trust  the  King’s  promises;  for 
civil  war  is  the  worst  of  evils.”  But  the  Mayor 
of  La  Rochelle  answered,  with  a bitter  smile, 
“We  see  before  us  a man  who  is  like  La  Noue, 
but  La  Noue  would  not  have  suggested  that  his 
brethren  should  submit  to  assassins.  La  Noue 
loved  our  late  lord  the  Admiral,  and  would  have 
been  bent  on  avenging  him  rather  than  on  bar- 


292 


A CHRONICLE 


gaining  with  his  murderers.  No;  you  are  not  La 
Noue!”  The  unlucky  ambassador,  cut  to  the 
heart  by  these  reproaches,  recalled  the  services 
which  he  had  done  to  the  Calvinist  cause,  showed 
his  maimed  arm,  and  protested  his  devotion  to# 
religion.  Little  by  little  the  mistrust  of  the 
Rochellese  melted;  they  opened  their  gates  to 
La  Noue,  they  showed  him  what  means  of  de- 
fence they  had,  and  even  urged  him  to  put  him- 
self at  their  head.  The  offer  was  very  tempting 
to  an  old  soldier,  and  his  oath  to  Charles  included 
a qualification  which  might  be  conscientiously 
construed  in  different  ways.  La  Noue  thought 
that  by  putting  himself  at  the  head  of  the  Rochel- 
lese he  should  be  in  better  case  to  bring  them 
back  to  peaceful  sentiments;  and  he  also  thought 
that  he  might  reconcile  the  allegiance  he  had 
shown  to  his  King  with  that  which  he  owed  to 
his  religion.  But  he  deceived  himself.  The  royal 
troops  came  to  attack  Rochelle;  La  Noue  headed 
every  sortie,  and  killed  plenty  of  Catholics. 
Then,  returning  to  the  city,  he  exhorted  the 
townsmen  to  come  to  terms.  The  result  was  that 
the  Catholics  vowed  he  had  broken  his  vow  to 
the  King,  and  the  Protestants  accused  him  of 
wishing  to  betray  them. 

In  this  plight  La  Noue,  with  every  kind  of 
disgust  heaped  upon  him,  tried  to  put  an  end 
to  it  by  exposing  his  life  twenty  times  a day. 


CHAPTER  XXY 


LA  NOUE 


“Foeneste.  Cap  de  you!  Cet  homme  ne  se  mouche  pas  du 
talon!” 


D’Aubigne,  Le  Baron  de  Foeneste. 


THE  besieged  had  just  made  a successful 
sally  against  the  advanced  works  of 
the  Catholic  army.  They  had  filled  up 
many  yards  of  trench,  overset  divers  gabions,  and 
killed  some  hundred  men  or  so,  and  the  detach- 
ment which  had  gained  this  success  was  returning 
into  town  by  the  Tadon  gate.  First  marched 
Captain  Dietrich  and  a company  of  arquebusiers, 
all  with  heated  countenances,  panting  breath,  and 
loudly  calling  for  drink,  which  showed  that  they 
had  not  spared  themselves  in  the  fight.  Then 
came  a numerous  troop  of  townsmen,  among 
whom  were  to  be  noticed  more  than  one  woman, 
who  seemed  to  have  borne  a share  in  the  battle. 
These  were  followed  by  some  twoscore  prisoners, 
most  of  them  covered  with  wounds,  and  guarded 
by  a double  file  of  soldiers,  who  had  much  ado 

293 


294  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


to  defend  them  from  the  rage  of  the  people  as 
they  passed.  The  rearguard  was  formed  by  some 
twenty  mounted  men,  with  La  Noue,  to  whom 
Mergy  acted  as  aide-de-camp,  last  of  all.  His 
cuirass  was  indented  by  a bullet,  and  his  horse 
was  wounded  in  two  places.  In  his  left  hand 
he  held  a discharged  pistol,  and  he  managed 
his  horse  by  the  aid  of  a hook  which  issued,  in 
place  of  a hand,  from  his  right  arm-piece. 

“Let  the  prisoners  pass,  good  friends!”  he 
cried  every  instant.  “ Be  merciful,  good  Roch- 
ellese!  They  are  wounded;  they  are  defenceless; 
they  are  enemies  no  longer ! ” 

But  the  mob  answered  by  fierce  cries  of  “ To 
the  gibbet  with  the  Papists!  to  the  gallows  with 
them!  and  long  live  La  Noue!  ” Mergy  and  the 
horsemen,  with  some  well-timed  blows  of  their 
lance-butts,  emphasized  the  generous  rcommen- 
dations  of  their  leader,  and  the  prisoners  were 
at  last  conducted  to  the  city  gaol  and  installed, 
under  a strong  guard,  in  a place  where  they  had 
nothing  to  fear  from  popular  fury.  The  de- 
tachment dispersed;  and  La  Noue,  with  no  other 
following  save  a few  gentlemen,  dismounted 
before  the  townhall  at  the  same  time  that  the 
mayor  came  forth,  followed  by  some  citizens  and 
an  old  minister  of  the  name  of  Laplace. 

“Well,  brave  La  Noue,”  said  the  mayor, 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  295 


holding  out  his  hand,  “ you  have  just  shown  these 
cut-throats  that  all  brave  men  did  not  die  with 
the  Admiral!” 

“ The  affair  went  fortunately  enough,  sir,” 
said  La  Noue  modestly;  “ we  lost  but  five  killed 
and  few  wounded.” 

“As  it  was  you  who  led  the  sally,  M.  de  la 
Noue,”  returned  the  mayor,  “ we  were  sure  of 
victory  beforehand.” 

“ And  what  could  La  Noue  do  without  the 
help  of  God?  ” cried  the  old  minister  sourly.  “ It 
is  the  mighty  God  who  has  fought  for  us  to-day: 
He  has  heard  our  prayers!  ” 

“ It  is  God,”  said  La  Noue  in  his  calm  voice, 
“ who  gives  victory  and  withholds  it  as  He  wills; 
and  Him  only  must  we  thank  for  success  in  war.” 
Then  turning  to  the  mayor,  “ Well,  Master 
Mayor,  has  the  council  deliberated  on  his  Majes- 
ty’s last  offers?  ” 

“ It  has,”  answered  the  mayor.  “We  have 
just  sent  the  trumpeter  back  to  Monsieur,  beg- 
ging him  to  spare  himself  the  trouble  of  sum- 
moning us  afresh  to  surrender.  Henceforward 
we  shall  answer  only  with  musket-shots.” 

“Ye  should  have  hanged  the  trumpeter,” 
remarked  the  minister.  “ For  is  it  not  written, 
4 There  be  men  of  Belial  come  out  of  the  midst 
of  you  who  have  striven  to  seduce  the  men  of 


296  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


their  city.  . . . Rut  thou  shalt  not  spare  to 

slay  them;  thy  hand  shall  be  first  on  them,  and 
then  the  hand  of  all  the  people  ’ ? ” 

La  Noue  sighed  and  looked  to  heaven,  but 
made  no  answer. 

“ What!  ” continued  the  mayor,  “ surrender? 
Surrender,  when  the  walls  are  standing?  when 
the  foe  does  not  even  dare  to  attack  them  close, 
while  we  beard  him  in  his  trenches  every  day? 
Take  my  word  for  it,  M.  de  la  Noue,  were  there 
not  a soldier  in  Rochelle,  the  women  would  be 
strong  enough  by  themselves  to  keep  off  these 
Parisian  butchers ! ” 

“ Sir,  the  stronger  party  should  speak  mod- 
erately of  his  enemy;  and  the  weaker ” 

“ Who  told  you  that  we  were  the  weaker?  ” 
interrupted  Laplace.  “ Does  not  God  fight  for 
us?  and  was  not  Gideon,  with  three  hundred  men 
of  Israel,  too  strong  for  all  the  host  of  the  Mid- 
ianites?  ” 

“ You  know,  Master  Mayor,”  continued  La 
Noue,  “ better  than  any  man,  how  insufficient  are 
our  stores.  Powder  is  running  low,  and  I have 
had  to  forbid  the  arquebusiers  to  risk  long  shots.” 

“ Montgomery  will  send  us  some  from  Eng- 
land,” said  the  mayor. 

“ The  fire  of  heaven  will  fall  on  the  Papists,” 
said  the  minister. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  297 


“ But  bread  grows  dearer  every  day,  Master 
Mayor.” 

“ In  a day  or  two  the  English  fleet  will  be 
here,  and  then  the  town  will  have  plenty.” 

“ God  will  cause  manna  to  fall,  if  it  be 
needed ! ” cried  Laplace  vehemently. 

“ As  for  the  succour  you  speak  of,”  went  on 
La  Noue,  “ a few  days’  southerly  wind  will  make 
it  impossible  for  it  to  enter  the  harbour.  Be- 
sides, it  may  be  taken.  ” 

“ The  wind  will  blow  from  the  north.  I 
prophesy  it,  O man  of  little  faith!  ” said  the  min- 
ister. “ Thou  hast  lost  thy  courage  at  the  same 
time  as  thy  right  arm!  ” 

La  Noue  seemed  to  have  made  up  his  mind 
to  return  him  no  answer.  He  went  on,  still  ad- 
dressing the  mayor  only: 

“ The  loss  of  a single  man  falls  heavier  on 
us  than  the  loss  of  ten  on  the  enemy.  I fear 
lest,  if  the  Catholics  press  the  siege  with  activity, 
we  be  forced  to  accept  terms  harder  far  than 
those  which  you  have  just  scornfully  rejected. 
And  if,  as  I hope,  the  King  deigns  to  content 
himself  with  having  his  authority  recognised  by 
the  town,  without  demanding  sacrifices  which 
we  can  not  make,  I believe  it  to  be  our  duty 
to  open  our  gates  to  him;  for  after  all,  he 
is  our  master.” 


298  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“We  have  no  other  master  than  Christ!  And 
none  but  the  impious  can  call  Charles — the  savage 
Ahab,  who  drinks  the  blood  of  the  prophets — 
their  master!”  Thus  cried  the  minister,  whose 
rage  seemed  to  redouble  as  he  beheld  La  Noue’s 
imperturbable  calm. 

“ For  my  part,”  said  the  mayor,  “ I remem- 
ber very  well  how,  the  last  time  the  Admiral 
passed  through  our  town,  he  said  to  us,  ‘ The 
King  has  pledged  me  his  word  that  all  his  sub- 
jects, Protestant  and  Catholic,  shall  be  treated 
alike.’  Six  months  later  this  same  King,  who 
pledged  his  word  to  the  Admiral,  had  him  mur- 
dered. If  we  open  our  gates,  we  shall  have  a 
Saint  Bartholomew  here  as  they  had  at  Paris.” 
“ The  King  was  deceived  by  the  Guises,” 
said  La  Noue.  “ He  repents  it  now,  and  would 
gladly  make  atonement  for  the  bloodshed.  If 
you  provoke  the  Catholics  by  your  obstinate  re- 
fusal to  treat,  you  will  have  to  deal  with  all  the 
forces  of  the  kingdom,  and  the  sole  refuge  of 
the  reformed  faith  will  be  destroyed.  Be  per- 
suaded by  me,  Master  Mayor — peace!  peace!” 
“Coward!”  cried  the  minister.  “Thou  de- 
sirest  peace  because  thou  fearest  for  thy  life!” 
“Oh,  Master  Laplace!”  said  the  mayor. 

“ In  short,”  went  on  La  Noue  coolly,  “ my 
last  word  is,  that  if  the  King  will  consent  to 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  299 


put  no  garrison  in  La  Rochelle,  and  to  leave  our 
meetings  free,  we  ought  to  offer  him  the  keys 
and  assure  him  of  our  submission.” 

“Thou  art  a traitor!”  said  Laplace;  “and 
thou  hast  been  corrupted  by  the  tyrants!  ” 

“Good  God!  Master  Laplace!”  said  the 
mayor  again,  “ what  are  you  saying?  ” 

La  Noue  smiled  slightly  and  contemptuously. 
“ You  see,  Master  Mayor,”  said  he,  “ the 
times  we  live  in  are  strange:  men  of  war  speak 
of  peace,  and  ministers  preach  war.  My  good 
sir,”  he  continued,  at  last  addressing  Laplace, 
“ it  is  dinner-time,  I think,  and  your  wife  must 
be  expecting  you  at  home.” 

These  last  words  put  the  finishing  touch  to 
the  divine’s  fury.  He  could  not  hit  on  any  verbal 
insult ; and  as  a box  on  the  ear  is  a good  substitute 
for  a reasonable  answer,  he  dealt  one  on  the  old 
soldier’s  cheek. 

“ In  God’s  name  what  are  you  doing?  ” cried 
the  mayor.  “ Strike  M.  de  la  Noue! — the  best 
citizen  and  the  bravest  soldier  of  Rochelle ! ” 
Mergy,  who  was  present,  was  about  to  ad- 
minister to  Laplace  a correction  which  he  would 
not  soon  have  forgotten,  but  La  Noue  held  him 
back.  For  a single  moment,  when  his  grizzled 
beard  was  touched  by  the  old  madman’s  hand, 
there  passed  with  the  speed  of  thought  over  his 


300  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


eyes  a flash  of  furious  indignation.  But  his 
countenance  at  once  recovered  its  impassive  air. 
It  might  have  been  thought  that  the  minister 
had  struck  the  marble  bust  of  a Roman  senator, 
or  that  La  Noue  himself  had  been  touched  by 
some  inanimate  thing  driven  accidentally  against 
him. 

“ Take  the  old  man  back  to  his  wife,”  said  he 
to  one  of  the  townsmen,  who  were  dragging  the 
minister  away.  “ Tell  her  to  have  a care  of  him; 
he  is  surely  not  well  to-day.  And  you,  Master 
Mayor,  I pray  you  have  me  ready  a hundred  and 
fifty  citizen  volunteers;  for  I would  make  a sally 
to-morrow  at  break  of  day,  just  when  the  sol- 
diers, who  have  spent  the  night  in  the  trenches, 
are  stiff  with  cold,  like  bears  attacked  at  the  thaw. 
I have  often  noticed  that  folk  who  have  slept 
under  a good  roof  have  easy  work  at  morning- 
tide  with  those  who  have  passed  the  night  in  the 
open  air.  Monsieur  de  Mergy,  if  you  are  not  in 
a great  hurry  for  dinner,  will  you  take  a turn 
with  me  to  the  Gospel  Bastion?  I should  like 
to  see  how  the  enemy’s  works  are  getting  on.” 
Then,  saluting  the  mayor,  and  resting  his  hand 
on  the  young  man’s  shoulder,  he  bent  his  steps 
to  the  bastion. 

They  entered  it  the  moment  after  two  men 
had  been  mortally  wounded  by  a gunshot;  the 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  301 


stones  were  dyed  with  blood,  and  one  of  the 
wretches  was  imploring  his  comrades  to  put  him 
out  of  his  misery.  La  Noue,  his  elbow  on  the 
parapet,  gazed  silently  for  some  time  at  the  be- 
siegers’ works;  then  he  turned  towards  Mergy. 
“ All  war  is  hideous,”  said  he,  “ but  a civil  war! 
That  ball  was  rammed  into  a French  cannon; 
it  was  a Frenchman  who  levelled  the  gun,  and 
held  the  match,  and  those  whom  the  ball  has 
killed  are  two  Frenchmen.  And  yet,  to  cause 
death  half  a mile  off  is  nothing;  but  M.  de 
Mergy,  when  one  has  to  plunge  a sword  into  the 
bosom  of  a man  who  cries  for  quarter  in  your 
own  tongue  . . . ! And  we  have  done  that 

very  thing  this  very  morning!  ” 

“ Ah,  sir,  but  if  you  had  seen  the  massacres 
on  the  twenty- fourth!  If  you  had  passed  the 
Seine  when  it  ran  red,  and  carried  more  corpses 
than  it  floats  down  iceblocks  in  winter  when  the 
frost  breaks,  you  would  feel  little  pity  for  those 
with  whom  we  are  fighting.  To  me  every  Papist 
is  a murderer.” 

“ Do  not  slander  your  country,”  said  La 
Noue.  “ In  yonder  besieging  army  there  are 
very  few  of  the  wretches  of  whom  you  speak. 
The  soldiers  are  French  peasants,  who  have 
quitted  their  ploughs  to  earn  the  King’s  pay : the 
gentlemen  and  the  captains  fight  because  of  their 


302  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


oath  of  allegiance  to  the  King.  It  may  be  that 
they  are  right  and  that  we  are  rebels!  ” 

“ Rebels?  But  our  cause  is  just:  we  fight  for 
faith  and  life.” 

“ I see  you  are  not  much  troubled  with 
scruples,  M.  de  Mergy;  you  are  a happy  war- 
rior,” and  the  old  hero  sighed  deeply. 

“By  the  Lord!  ” said  a soldier,  who  had  just 
let  off  his  piece,  “ that  devil  there  must  bear  a 
charmed  life.  I have  been  marking  him  down 
for  three  days,  and  I have  never  even  grazed 
him.” 

“ Whom  do  you  mean?  ” asked  Mergy. 

“ There!  do  you  see  the  spark  in  the  white 
doublet,  with  a red  scarf  and  feather?  Every 
day  he  paces  up  and  down,  maugre  our  beards, 
as  if  to  brave  us.  It  is  one  of  the  gilt-swords  of 
the  Court,  who  came  with  Monsieur.” 

“ It  is  a long  shot,”  said  Mergy;  “ but  never 
mind.  Give  me  an  arquebuss.” 

A soldier  handed  him  his  piece ; Mergy  rested 
the  end  of  the  barrel  on  the  parapet,  and  took 
a careful  aim. 

“ Suppose  he  were  a friend  of  yours?  ” said 
, La  Noue.  “ Why  do  you  want  to  play  the  mus- 
keteer thus?  ” 

Mergy,  who  was  about  to  draw  trigger,  held 
his  hand. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  303 


“ I have  no  friends,”  he  said,  “ but  one, 
among  the  Catholics,  and  he,  I am  sure,  is  not 
among  our  besiegers.” 

“ But  suppose  your  brother  were  in  Mon- 
sieur’s suite,  and  it  were  he?  ” 

The  arquebuss  went  off,  but  Mergy’s  finger 
had  trembled,  and  the  dust  sent  up  by  the  bullet 
rose  at  some  distance  from  the  promenader. 
Mergy  did  not  believe  that  his  brother  could  be 
in  the  Catholic  camp;  but  he  was  not  sorry  to 
see  that  he  had  missed.  The  person  at  whom  he 
had  shot  continued  his  slow  walk,  and  at  last 
disappeared  behind  one  of  the  piles  of  fresh- 
heaped  earth  which  were  rising  around  the  city 
on  all  sides. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  SALLY 


“ Hamlet . Dead  for  a ducat,  dead!” 

Shakespeare. 

COLD  drizzling  rain,  which  had  fallen 


uninterruptedly  throughout  the  whole 


night,  had  just  ceased  when  the  dawn- 


ing day  was  heralded  in  the  sky  by  a pale  light 
in  the  east.  This  light  struggled  through  a heavy 
fog,  which  clung  close  to  the  earth,  though  the 
wind  dispersed  it  here  and  there,  making  large 
gaps.  But  the  grey  fleecy  masses  soon  coalesced 
again,  as  the  waves,  cloven  by  a ship,  fall  back 
and  fill  up  the  wake  it  has  left.  The  champaign, 
covered  with  this  dense  mist,  through  which  tree- 
trunks  peered  at  intervals,  looked  like  one  great 
inundation. 

In  the  town,  the  uncertain  light  of  dawn, 
aided  by  the  flare  of  torches,  shone  upon  a pretty 
numerous  troop  of  soldiers  and  volunteers,  who 
were  gathered  in  the  street  leading  to  the  Gospel 
Bastion.  They  were  stamping  their  feet  on  the 
pavement,  and  shuffling  about  without  changing 


304 


A CHRONICLE 


305 


their  actual  position,  as  men  do  who  are  pierced 
by  the  damp  and  searching  cold  of  a winter  sun- 
rise. They  did  not  spare  oaths  and  vigorous 
execrations  against  the  leader  who  had  put  them 
under  arms  so  early;  but  despite  the  strength 
of  their  language,  there  was  to  be  detected  in 
it  the  cheerful  hope  which  animates  soldiers  led 
by  a chief  whom  they  value.  They  kept  saying, 
in  tones  half -jesting  and  half-angry,  “ This  con- 
founded Iron-arm,  this  Jack  Never-sleep,  can  not 
eat  his  breakfast  till  he  has  beat  up  the  quarters 
of  the  babe-bolters  yonder. — A plague  on  him! 
one  never  can  make  sure  of  a night’s  rest  with 
a devil  of  a fellow  like  that. — By  our  dead  lord 
the  Admiral’s  beard ! if  I do  not  hear  the  muskets 
talk  soon,  I shall  go  to  sleep,  as  if  I were  in 
bed — Thank  God!  here  is  a dram  coming  to 
wake  our  hearts  in  our  bodies,  and  save  us  from 
catching  cold  in  this  diabolical  fog.” 

While  the  brandy  was  being  served  out  to  the 
soldiers,  the  officers,  clustering  around  La  Noue, 
who  was  standing  under  the  penthouse  of  a shop, 
listened  with  interest  to  the  plan  of  the  attack 
which  he  proposed  to  make  on  the  besieging 
army.  The  roll  of  the  drums  was  heard,  each 
fell  into  his  place,  and  a minister  came  forward 
and  blessed  the  soldiers,  exhorting  them  to  do 
their  duty,  and  promising  them  eternal  life  if,  for 


306  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


too  good  reasons,  they  were  not  able  to  come  back 
to  the  town  and  receive  the  rewards  and  thanks 
of  their  fellow-citizens.  The  sermon  was  a short 
one;  but  La  Noue  thought  it  too  long.  He  was 
not  the  same  man  who  the  evening  before  de- 
plored every  drop  of  French  blood  shed  in  the 
war ; he  was  simply  a soldier,  and  seemed  eager  to 
revisit  the  scene  of  carnage.  No  sooner  was  the 
minister’s  discourse  finished;  no  sooner  had  the 
soldiers  returned  their  “ Amen,”  then  he  cried  in 
tones  firm  and  even  harsh,  “ Comrades!  the  good 
man  has  said  well.  Let  us  trust  in  God  and  our 
Lady  of  the  Hardhitters!  I will  kill  the  first 
man  who  fires  before  a Papist’s  stomach  is  within 
range  of  his  wad,  if  I come  out  alive  myself ! ” 

“ Sir,”  whispered  Mergy  to  him,  “ this  is 
different  talk  from  last  night’s.” 

“ Do  you  know  Latin?  ” asked  La  Noue 
brusquely. 

“ Yes,  sir,”  said  Mergy. 

“ Then  remember  that  admirable  maxim,  Age 
quod  agis  ” 

He  gave  the  signal.  A cannon-shot  was  fired, 
and  the  whole  body  set  out  at  quick  march  for 
the  open,  while  at  the  same  time  small  parties  of 
soldiers,  sallying  by  different  gates,  went  to  beat 
up  different  parts  of  the  hostile  lines,  that  the 
Catholics,  thinking  themselves  assailed  on  all 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  307 


sides,  might  not  dare  to  send  reinforcements  to 
the  scene  of  the  grand  assault,  for  fear  of  de- 
serting works  which  seemed  everywhere  threat- 
ened. 

The  Gospel  Bastion,  against  which  the  en- 
gineers of  the  Catholic  army  had  been  concen- 
trating their  efforts,  was  especially  exposed  to 
a battery  of  five  guns,  established  on  a knoll, 
crowned  by  some  ruined  buildings,  which  had 
before  the  siege  been  those  of  a mill.  A ditch 
and  an  earthwork  guarded  the  approach  to  this 
from  the  city;  and  in  front  of  the  ditch  several 
arquebusiers  stood  sentinel.  But,  as  the  Prot- 
estant leader  had  foreseen,  their  guns,  exposed 
to  the  damp  for  several  hours,  were  sure  to  be 
almost  useless,  and  the  attacking  party,  well 
equipped  in  all  respects,  and  ready  for  the  as- 
sault, had  a great  advantage  over  men  taken  by 
surprise,  weary  with  watching,  drenched  with 
rain,  and  shivering  with  cold.  The  first  sentinels 
were  despatched  with  the  cold  steel,  but  some 
musket-shots,  which  had  had  the  luck  to  go  off, 
woke  the  battery  guards  in  time  to  see  the  enemy 
already  over  the  parapet,  and  climbing  the  ascent 
of  the  mill-hill.  Some  resistance  was  attempted, 
but  weapons  dropped  from  hands  stiff  with  cold, 
and  almost  every  arquebuss  missed  fire,  while  not 
a shot  or  blow  of  the  assailants  was  lost.  Victory 


308  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


ceased  to  be  doubtful,  and  already  the  Protes- 
tants, masters  of  the  battery,  began  to  shout 
savagely:  “No  quarter!  Remember  the  twenty- 
fourth  of  August!  ” 

Some  fifty  soldiers  with  their  captain  occupied 
the  mill-tower;  and  the  officer,  in  his  night  gar- 
ments, with  a pillow  in  one  hand  and  his  sword 
in  the  other,  opened  the  gate  and  came  out,  ask- 
ing what  the  disturbance  was.  So  far  was  he 
from  even  thinking  of  a sally  on  the  enemy’s 
part,  that  he  fancied  the  noise  to  be  due  to  some 
squabble  among  his  own  soldiers.  He  was 
cruelly  undeceived;  for  a halberd-blow  stretched 
him  on  the  ground  bathed  in  his  own  blood.  His 
men  had  time  to  shut  and  barricade  the  gate  of 
the  tower,  and  for  some  minutes  they  made  good 
their  defence  by  firing  from  the  windows.  But 
there  happened  to  be  stacked  against  the  building 
a great  mass  of  straw  and  hay,  as  well  as  of 
brushwood  for  the  gabions.  The  Protestants  set 
fire  to  this,  and  in  a moment  the  flames  had  en- 
veloped the  tower  and  climbed  to  its  summit. 
Soon  horrible  cries  came  forth;  the  roof  had 
caught,  and  was  ready  to  fall  on  the  wretches 
whom  it  had  sheltered.  The  gate  was  on  fire, 
and  the  barricades  they  had  made  themselves  pre- 
vented their  exit  that  way.  If  they  attempted  to 
jump  from  the  windows  they  fell  into  the  burn- 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  309 


ing  pile  or  were  spitted  on  pike-points.  Then 
was  seen  a hideous  sight.  An  ensign,  sheathed 
in  complete  armour,  tried,  like  the  rest,  to  leap 
from  a narrow  window.  His  corslet  ended,  as 
was  then  a common  enough  fashion,  in  a sort 
of  iron  skirt  * covering  the  thighs  and  belly,  and 
widening  like  a funnel-mouth  so  as  to  give  easy 
room  for  walking.  The  window  was  not  wide 
enough  to  let  this  part  of  the  armour  pass;  and 
the  ensign,  in  his  excitement,  had  thrust  himself 
so  violently  in,  that  the  greater  part  of  his  body 
was  outside  without  its  being  possible  for  him, 
held  as  he  was  in  a sort  of  vice,  to  move  further. 
Meanwhile,  the  flames  rose  to  him,  heated  his 
armour,  and  roasted  him  in  it  slowly  as  in  a 
furnace  or  in  the  famous  brazen  bull  invented 
by  f Phalaris.  The  wretch  uttered  horrible  cries, 
and  vainly  waved  his  arms  as  if  imploring  suc- 
cour. For  a moment  there  was  silence  among 
the  attacking  party;  then  together,  and  as  if  by 
common  consent,  they  shouted  a war-cry  as 
though  to  divert  their  own  attention  and  drown 
the  groans  of  the  burning  man.  He  soon  dis- 

* Armour  like  this  can  be  seen  at  the  Artillery  Museum.  A very  fine 
sketch  of  a tournament  by  Rubens  shows  how,  notwithstanding  this  iron 
skirt,  it  was  still  possible  to  mount  a horse.  The  saddles  have  on  them  a 
sort  of  small  stool,  which  goes  under  the  skirt  and  raises  the  rider  till  his 
knees  are  almost  on  a level  with  his  horse’s  head.  For  the  man  burnt  in 
his  armour  see  D’Aubigne’s  “Histoire  Universelle.” 

t [“For,”  not  “by,”  a slip  of  Merimee’s.] — Translator's  Note. 


310  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


appeared  in  a blast  of  flame  and  smoke,  and  a 
helmet,  red-hot  and  smoking,  was  seen  to  fall 
in  the  midst  of  the  ruins  of  the  tower. 

In  the  heat  of  combat  emotions  of  horror  and 
grief  last  not  long;  the  instinct  of  self-preserva- 
tion speaks  to  the  soldier’s  mind  too  forcibly  for 
him  to  be  able  long  to  attend  to  the  miseries  of 
others.  While  some  of  the  Rochellese  pursued 
the  fugitives  others  spiked  the  guns,  smashed 
their  wheels,  and  hurled  into  the  ditch  the  gabions 
of  the  battery  and  the  corpses  of  its  garrison. 

Mergy,  who  had  been  one  of  the  first  in  the 
escalade  of  the  ditch  and  the  rampart,  took 
breath  for  a moment,  just  long  enough  to  scratch 
the  name  of  Diane  on  one  of  the  battery  guns. 
Then  he  helped  the  others  to  destroy  the  be- 
seigers’  works.  Meanwhile  a soldier  had  lifted 
up  the  head  of  the  Catholic  captain,  who  gave  no 
sign  of  life,  while  another  took  his  feet,  and  both 
swinging  him  between  them  in  cadence,  were 
about  to  hurl  him  into  the  ditch.  Suddenly  the 
apparent  corpse,  opening  its  eyes,  recognised 
Mergy  and  cried,  “ Quarter,  Mergy!  I am  a 
prisoner,  save  me!  Do  you  not  know  your  friend 
Beville?  ” The  poor  fellow’s  face  was  covered 
with  blood,  and  Mergy  had  some  difficulty  in 
recognising  in  this  dying  man  the  young  cour- 
tier whom  he  had  left  full  of  life  and  mirth.  He 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  311 


had  him  stretched  carefully  on  the  grass,  him- 
self bound  up  his  wounds,  and  after  laying  him 
across  a horse,  gave  orders  that  he  should  be 
taken  gently  into  the  town.  In  the  act  of  bid-, 
ding  him  farewell  and  helping  to  lead  the  horse 
out  of  the  battery,  he  saw  through  an  opening 
of  the  fog  a body  of  cavalry  advancing  at  a trot, 
between  the  city  and  the  mill.  To  all  appear- 
ance it  was  a detachment  of  Catholic  troops  try- 
ing to  cut  off  their  retreat.  Mergy  at  once 
hastened  to  warn  La  Noue,  and  said,  “ If  you 
will  give  me  only  twoscore  arquebusiers,  I will 
throw  myself  behind  the  hollow  way  through 
which  they  must  pass,  and  if  they  do  not  turn 
tail  promptly  I will  give  you  leave  to  hang 
me!” 

“ Excellent,  my  boy!  ” said  La  Noue.  “ You 
will  make  a good  general  some  of  these  days. 
Come,  men,  follow  this  gentleman  and  do  what 
he  tells  you.” 

In  a very  short  time  Mergy  had  ensconced 
his  arquebusiers  along  the  hedge.  He  made  them 
kneel  on  one  knee  and  get  their  weapons  ready; 
but  above  all  he  forbade  a single  shot  to  be  fired 
till  he  gave  the  word.  The  hostile  cavalry  rode 
rapidly  up,  and  already  their  horse-hoofs  were 
clearly  heard  in  the  mud  of  the  hollow  way. 

“ Their  captain,”  whispered  Mergy,  “ is  the 


312 


A CHRONICLE 


red-plumed  rascal  whom  we  missed  yesterday. 
Do  not  let  us  miss  him  to-day.” 

A The  arquebusier  on  his  right  nodded  as 
though  to  say  he  would  take  care  of  that.  The 
horsemen  were  not  twenty  paces  off,  and  their 
leader,  turning  to  his  men,  seemed  about  to  give 
an  order,  when  Mergy,  rising  suddenly,  shouted 
“ Fire!  ” 

The  captain  with  the  red  plume  turned  his 
head,  and  Mergy  recognised  his  brother.  He 
darted  his  hand  towards  his  neighbour’s  piece 
to  strike  it  aside;  but  before  he  touched  it  the 
shot  sped.  The  horsemen,  startled  at  the  un- 
expected volley,  fled  in  different  directions  over 
the  plain;  but  Captain  George  fell  pierced  with 
two  bullets. 


The  horsemen  were  not  twenty  paces  off,  when 
Mergy,  rising  suddenly,  shouted,  “ Fire  ! 


j From  a drawing  by  Edouard  loudouze. 


912  A CHRONICLE 

' 

k pi  ned  rascal  whom  we  missed  yesterday, 
i • not  Jet  us  miss  him  to-day.” 

* The  arquebusier  on  his  right  nodded  as 
though  to  say  he  would  take  care  of  that.  The 
horsemen  were  not  twenty  paces  off,  and  their 
leader,  turning  to  his  men,  seemed  about  to  give 

“Fire r WhCn  Mergy’  rising  suddenly>  shouted 

lue  captain  with  the  red  plume  turned  his 
head,  and  Mergy  recognised  his  brother.  He 
arted  his  hand  towards  his  neighbour’s  piece 
to  stnke.it  aside;  but  before  he  touched  it  the 
shot  sped.  The  horsemen,  startled  at  the  un- 
expected volley,  fled  in  different  directions  over 

le  P d1*^ ; Captain  George  fell  pierced  with 
two  bullets. 


iwilw  3o  aaojsq  ton  aiaw  ircmi^giorf  *jdT 

", ! '*  ,b‘jiuofIg  ty  Inijbbu*  $ni«n 

.5s.moWoa  \yumso\VA  \\A  •o\\nuv\Vt  v>  rnoVA. 


The  Captain  returned  the  salute,  and  both 
looked  at  each  other  for  some  time  without  speaking. 
From  a drawing  by  Edouard  Toudouze. 


dJod  briK  adi  bamuJjyr  nbdqjsO  a/IT 

gnidi^qg  Juod jiw  amii  araog  icd  nadio  doss  J*  badool 
.ssmoV»ioT  hruutohSl  \uV  ^kVs«y\Yj  » wo^ 


f |1f§ 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  HOSPITAL 


“Father. 


Why  are  you  so  obstinate  ? 


Pierre.  Why  you  so  troublesome,  that  a poor  wretch 
Can’t  die  in  peace. 

But  you,  like  ravens,  will  be  croaking  round  him  ?” 


FORMER  monastery,  sequestrated 


some  time  before  by  the  Town  Council 


of  La  Rochelle,  had  been,  during  the 


siege,  turned  into  a hospital  for  the  wounded. 
The  pavement  of  the  chapel  (whence  benches, 
altar,  and  all  other  furniture  had  been  removed) 
was  covered  with  hay  and  straw,  and  hither  they 
carried  the  rank  and  file.  The  refectory  was  set 
apart  for  officers  and  gentlemen.  It  was  a 
spacious  apartment,  handsomely  panelled  with 
old  oak,  and  its  walls  were  pierced  with  wide 
pointed  windows,  giving  light  enough  for  the 
surgical  operations  which  unceasingly  went  on 
within  it. 

Here  Captain  George  lay  on  a mattress, 
stained  with  his  own  blood  and  with  that  of  many 
other  unfortunates  who  had  preceded  him  in  this 
place  of  pain.  A truss  of  straw  served  him  as 


Otway,  Venice  Preserved. 


313 


314  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


pillow;  he  was  naked  to  the  waist,  for  they  had 
just  taken  off  his  corslet  and  torn  his  shirt  and 
doublet  open;  but  his  right  arm  still  bore  the 
steel  armpiece  and  gauntlet.  A soldier  was 
stanching  the  blood  which  flowed  from  his 
wounds,  one  in  the  belly  just  below  the  cuirass, 
the  other,  of  less  importance,  in  the  left  arm. 
Mergy  was  so  overwhelmed  by  grief  that  he 
was  unable  to  be  of  any  effectual  assistance. 
Now  weeping  on  his  knees  in  front  of  the  cap- 
tain, now  rolling  on  the  ground  with  cries  of 
despair,  he  reproached  himself  unceasingly  with 
having  slain  the  kindest  of  brothers  and  the  best 
of  friends.  But  the  captain  was  calm  enough 
meanwhile  and  tried  to  moderate  his  transports. 

A few  feet  from  his  mattress  was  another  on 
which  the  luckless  Beville  lay  in  equally  evil 
case.  But  his  features  did  not  exhibit  the  same 
quiet  resignation  which  was  noticeable  on  the 
captain’s.  From  time  to  time  he  let  slip  a 
muffled  groan  and  turned  his  eyes  to  his  neigh- 
bour as  if  to  beg  a share  of  his  courage  and 
fortitude. 

A man  of  some  forty  years,  dry,  thin,  bald, 
and  covered  with  wrinkles,  entered  the  hall  and 
drew  near  Captain  George,  holding  in  his  hand 
a green  bag,  whence  there  issued  a certain  rattle 
very  terrible  to  poor  wounded  men.  It  was 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  315 


Master  Brisart,  a surgeon  skilful  enough  for 
the  time,  and  a friend  and  pupil  of  the  famous 
Ambrose  Pare.  He  had  just  operated;  for  his 
arms  were  bare  to  the  elbow,  and  he  was  still  girt 
with  a large  apron  all  stained  with  blood. 

“ Who  are  you  and  what  do  you  want  with 
me?  ” asked  George  of  him. 

“ I am  a surgeon,  my  good  sir,  and  if  you 
do  not  know  the  name  of  Master  Brisart,  there 
must  be  many  things  of  which  you  are  ignorant. 
Come,  pluck  up  a sheep’s  courage,  as  the  saying 
is.  I know  something  of  gun-shot  wounds,  thank 
God!  And  I would  I had  as  many  bags  of  a 
thousand  livres  each  as  I have  extracted  bullets 
from  folks  who  are  as  hale  to-day  as  I am 
myself.” 

“ Well  then,  doctor,  tell  me  the  truth.  The 
wound  is  mortal,  if  I know  anything  about  it.” 

The  surgeon  examined  the  left  arm  first,  and 
said,  “A  trifle!”  Then  he  began  to  probe  the 
other  wound,  a proceeding  which  soon  forced  the 
patient  to  grin  horribly.  He  had  strength 
enough  left  to  push  the  doctor’s  hand  away 
stoutly  enough  with  his  own  right  hand. 

“No  further,  doctor,  in  God’s  name  and  the 
Devil’s!”  cried  he.  “I  see  by  your  face  that 
my  business  is  done.” 

“ Well,  sir,  you  see,  I fear  much  that  the 


316  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


bullet  has  crossed  the  small  hypogastric  intestine, 
and  striking  upwards  has  lodged  in  the  spine, 
which  we  otherwise  call  in  Greek,  rachis.  What 
makes  me  think  so  is  that  your  legs  are  motion- 
less and  cold  already — a pathological  symptom 

which  rarely  deceives.  In  which  case ” 

“ A gun-shot  at  point-blank  and  a ball  in  the 
spine!  Plague  on  it,  doctor,  that  is  more  than 
enough  to  lay  one  poor  devil  with  his  fathers. 
There,  torture  me  no  more,  and  let  me  die 
quietly.” 

“No!  he  shall  live!  He  will  live!”  cried 
Mergy,  fixing  wild  eyes  on  the  surgeon  and 
clutching  his  arm  hard. 

“Yes;  he  will  live  an  hour  longer — perhaps 
two,  for  he  is  a strong  man,”  said  Master  Brisart 
coolly. 

Mergy  fell  once  more  on  his  knees,  seized  the 
captain’s  right  hand,  and  drenched  the  gauntlet 
which  covered  it,  with  tears. 

“Two  hours!”  answered  George.  “So 
much  the  better;  I feared  I had  longer  to  suffer.” 
“ No!  it  is  impossible!  ” cried  Mergy  sobbing. 
“ George,  you  must  not  die.  A brother  can  not 
die  by  his  brother’s  hand!” 

“ There,  there,  Bernard,  calm  yourself,  and 
do  not  shake  me  so.  I feel  every  motion  of  yours 
here.  The  pain  is  not  too  bad  for  the  moment, 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  317 


if  only  it  will  last,  as  the  fool  said  while  he  was 
falling  from  the  steeple.” 

Mergy  sat  down  by  the  mattress,  his  head 
resting  on  his  knees  and  his  face  hidden  by  his 
hands.  He  did  not  move,  and  seemed  stupefied; 
only  now  and  then  convulsive  twitches  made  his 
whole  body  shake  as  though  in  the  shivering  fit 
of  a fever,  and  groans  unlike  the  sound  of  a 
human  voice  struggled  from  his  breast. 

As  for  the  surgeon,  after  fixing  a bandage 
or  two  merely  to  arrest  the  bleeding,  he  wiped 
his  probe  with  great  coolness. 

“ I should  advise  you  strongly  to  set  your 
affairs  in  order,”  he  said.  “ If  you  want  a min- 
ister, there  are  plenty  here,  and  if  you  prefer 
a priest  you  can  have  one.  I saw  a monk  just 
now,  whom  our  people  had  taken  prisoner.  See, 
he  is  yonder,  confessing  that  Popish  officer  who 
lies  at  the  point  of  death. 

“ Give  me  something  to  drink,”  said  the 
captain. 

“ Do  nothing  of  the  kind,”  replied  the  doc- 
tor, “or  you  will  die  an  hour  sooner.” 

“ An  hour  of  life  is  not  worth  a glass  of 
wine.  Come,  good-bye,  doctor;  my  friend  here 
at  my  side  is  waiting  for  you  impatiently.” 

“ Then  shall  I send  you  a minister  or  the 
monk?  ” 


318  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ Neither  one  nor  the  other.” 

“ What  do  you  mean?  ” 

“ Let  me  alone.” 

The  surgeon  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
turned  to  Beville. 

“By  my  beard ! ” cried  he,  “ this  is  a beauti- 
ful wound!  These  devils  of  volunteers  strike 
like  madmen ! ” 

“ But  I shall  recover,  shall  I not?  ” asked  the 
wounded  man  feebly. 

“ Draw  your  breath,”  said  Master  Brisart. 

Then  they  heard  a sort  of  low  whistle,  pro- 
duced by  the  air  which  left  Beville’s  lungs  by  his 
wound  as  well  as  by  his  mouth,  while  the  blood 
ran  from  the  opening  like  crimson  froth.  The 
surgeon  whistled  himself,  as  if  in  echo  of  this 
strange  sound ; and  then  he  hastily  bandaged  the 
place,  and  without  a word  picked  up  his  instru- 
ment-case and  prepared  to  depart.  Meanwhile 
Beville’s  eyes,  glittering  like  torches,  had  fol- 
lowed all  his  movements. 

“ Well,  doctor?  ” asked  he,  in  trembling 
tones. 

“ Pack  up  your  traps,”  said  the  surgeon 
coolly,  as  he  turned  away. 

“ Alas!  to  die  so  young!  ” cried  the  unhappy 
Beville,  letting  his  head  fall  hack  on  the  straw 
which  served  him  as  pillow. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  319 


Captain  George  still  asked  for  drink;  but 
no  one  would  give  him  so  much  as  a glass  of 
water,  for  fear  of  hastening  his  end — a singular 
kind  of  humanity,  which  serves  only  to  prolong 
misery.  At  this  moment  La  Noue,  attended  by 
Captain  Dietrich  and  several  other  officers,  en- 
tered the  hall  to  visit  the  wounded.  They  all 
halted  before  George’s  mattress;  and  La  Noue, 
leaning  on  his  sword-hilt,  looked  from  one 
brother  to  the  other  with  eyes  in  which  all  the 
sympathy  with  which  the  sad  scene  inspired  him 
was  depicted.  A flask  slung  at  the  German  sol- 
dier’s side  attracted  George’s  notice. 

“ Captain,”  said  he,  “ you  are  an  old  sol- 
dier? ” J 

“Yes;  as  a soldier  I am  old  enough.  The 
smoke  of  powder  grizzles  a man’s  beard  faster 
than  years.  My  name  is  Captain  Dietrich 
Hornstein.” 

“ Tell  me,  then,”  said  George,  “ what  you 
would  do  if  you  had  my  wound?  ” 

Captain  Dietrich  considered  the  injuries  for 
a moment,  like  a man  accustomed  to  the  sight 
and  to  judge  their  importance. 

“ I should  put  my  conscience  in  order,”  an- 
swered he,  “ and  then  I should  ask  for  a good 
glass  of  Rhenish,  if  there  were  a bottle  any- 
where about.” 


320  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ Well,  I only  ask  them  for  a glass  of  their 
wretched  Rochelle  wine,  and  the  fools  will  not 
give  it  me.” 

Dietrich  unslung  his  flask,  which  was  of  very 
goodly  size,  and  made  as  though  he  would  hand 
it  to  the  wounded  man. 

“What  are  you  doing,  captain?  ” cried  a 
musketeer.  “ The  doctor  says  he  will  die  at 
once  if  he  drinks.” 

“What  matter?”  replied  Dietrich;  “he  will 
at  least  have  a little  solace  before  death.  Here, 
brave  sir;  I am  only  sorry  not  to  have  better 
wine  to  offer  you.” 

“ You  are  a gentleman,  Captain  Dietrich,” 
said  George,  when  he  had  drunk.  Then  handing 
the  flask  to  his  neighbour,  “ And  you,  my  poor 
Beville,  will  you  do  me  reason?  ” 

But  Beville  shook  his  head  and  answered  not. 

“ Ah ! ah ! ” said  George,  “ here  comes  more 
torment!  What!  will  they  never  let  me  die  in 
peace?  ” 

He  saw  a minister  coming  forward,  Bible  un- 
der arm. 

“ My  son,”  said  the  minister,  “ when  you 

go ” 

“ Enough!  enough!  ” answered  George.  “ I 
know  what  you  would  say ; but  it  is  lost  labour — 
I am  a Catholic.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  321 


“ A Catholic ! ” cried  Beville.  “ Then  you 
are  a Freethinker  no  longer?  ” 

“ But  once/’  said  the  minister,  “ you  were 
bred  in  the  reformed  faith;  and  at  this  solemn 
and  terrible  moment,  when  you  are  about  to  ap- 
pear before  the  supreme  Judge  of  deeds  and  of 
consciences ’ ’ 

“I  am  a Catholic!  By  the  devil’s  horns! 
leave  me  alone ! ” 

“ But ” 

“ Captain  Dietrich,”  said  George,  “ will  you 
not  take  pity  on  me?  You  have  done  me  one 
great  service ; I beg  you  do  me  yet  another.  See 
that  I am  allowed  to  die  without  preachments 
and  jeremiads.” 

“ You  had  better  withdraw,”  said  the  captain 
to  the  minister.  “You  see  he  is  in  no  mood  to 
listen  to  you.” 

La  Noue  beckoned  to  the  monk,  who  at  once 
approached. 

“ Here  is  a priest  of  your  own  religion,”  said 
La  Noue  to  Captain  George.  “We  make  no 
pretensions  to  force  men’s  consciences.” 

“ Monk  or  minister,  let  them  all  go  to  the 
devil!”  answered  the  wounded  man. 

But  the  two  divines  stood  on  each  side  of 
his  bed,  and  seemed  ready  to  fight  for  the  dying 
patient. 


322  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


“ This  gentleman  is  a Catholic,”  said  the 
monk. 

“ But  he  was  born  a Protestant,”  said  the 
minister;  “he  belongs  to  me.” 

“ He  was  converted,”  said  the  one. 

“ But  he  wishes  to  die  in  the  faith  of  his 
fathers,”  retorted  the  other. 

“ Confess,  my  son.” 

“ Repeat  your  Creed,  my  son.” 

“ Do  you  not  die  a good  Catholic?  ” asked 
the  monk. 

“ Take  away  this  messenger  of  Antichrist!  ” 
cried  the  minister,  feeling  that  the  majority  of 
the  audience  was  on  his  side;  and  immediately  a 
zealous  Huguenot  soldier  grasped  the  monk  by 

his  girdle,  and  thrust  him  back  crying 

“Hence,  shaveling  gallows-bird!  ’tis  long 
since  mass  has  ceased  to  be  said  at  Rochelle!  ” 
“Hold,  there!”  said  La  Noue.  “If  this 
gentleman  wishes  to  confess  himself,  I pledge 
my  word  that  none  shall  interfere.” 

“ Very  many  thanks,  M.  de  la  Noue,”  said 
the  dying  man  faintly. 

“ You  are  all  witnesses,”  interrupted  the 
monk,  “ he  wishes  to  confess!  ” 

“No!  may  the  devil  take  me,  no!  ” 

“ He  returns  to  the  faith  of  his  ancestors!  ” 
cried  the  minister. 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  323 


“No!  A thousand  thunders!  Leave  me, 
both  of  you ! Am  I dead  already,  that  the  ravens 
are  quarrelling  over  my  carcass?  I will  have 
neither  your  mass  nor  your  psalms.” 

“ He  blasphemes ! ” cried  in  unison  the  two 
ministers  of  the  rival  faiths. 

“ It  is  well  to  believe  in  something,”  observed 
Captain  Dietrich  with  unruffled  calmness. 

“ I believe,”  said  George,  “that  you  are  a 
good  fellow  who  will  deliver  me  from  these 
harpies.  There ! get  away  with  you  both,  and  let 
me  die  like  a dog ! ” 

“Yea!  die  like  a dog!”  said  the  minister, 
turning  away  in  a rage.  The  monk  crossed  him- 
self, and  drew  near  Beville’s  couch,  while  La 
Noue  and  Mergy  held  the  Protestant  divine 
back.  “Make  one  more  effort!”  said  Mergy. 
“ Pity  him,  pity  me!  ” 

“ Sir,”  said  La  Noue  to  the  dying  man,  “ take 
an  old  soldier’s  word  for  it,  the  exhortations  of 
a servant  of  God  can  soothe  dying  hours.  Do 
not  hearken  to  the  counsels  of  a guilty  vanity, 
and  do  not  lose  your  soul  out  of  idle  bravado.” 

“ Sir,”  replied  the  captain,  “ I have  not 
thought  of  death  to-day  for  the  first  time.  I 
need  no  one’s  exhortations  to  prepare  for  it.  I 
never  loved  bravado,  and  I love  it  now  less  than 
ever.  But  in  the  devil’s  name,  I will  have  noth- 


324  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


in g to  do  with  their  nonsense.’ * The  minis- 
ter shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  La  Noue 
sighed.  Both  departed  slowly  and  with  bowed 
heads. 

“ Comrade,”  said  Dietrich,  “ you  must  be  in 
the  devil’s  own  pain  to  speak  as  you  do.” 

“ Yes,  captain,  I am.” 

“ Then  I hope  that  the  good  God  will  not 
be  offended  at  your  words,  though  they  sound 
desperately  like  blasphemy.  With  a gun-shot 
right  through  the  body,  confound  it,  one  may 
swear  a little  to  keep  one’s  heart  up.” 

George  smiled  and  took  the  flask  once  more. 
“ Your  health,  captain!  You  are  the  best  nurse 
a wounded  soldier  can  have,”  and  as  he  spoke 
he  held  out  his  hand.  Dietrich  clasped  it,  not 
without  certain  signs  of  emotion.  “ The  devil!  ” 
he  murmured  to  himself,  “ suppose  my  brother 
Hennig  were  a Catholic,  and  I had  shot  him 
through  the  body!  This,  then,  was  what  Mila’s 
prophecy  meant.” 

“ George,  my  friend,”  said  Beville  in  a 
piteous  tone,  “ speak  to  me  once!  We  are  going 
to  die.  ’Tis  a terrible  moment.  Are  you  still 
minded  as  you  used  to  be  when  you  converted 
me  to  Atheism?  ” 

“ Of  course  I am.  Take  courage ; in  a min- 
ute or  two  our  sufferings  will  be  over.” 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  325 


“ But  this  monk  tells  me  of  flames — of  devils 
— of  all  sorts  of  things.  Meseems  all  this  is  not 
comforting.” 

“ Nonsense!  ” 

“ But  suppose  it  were  all  true?  ” 

“ Captain,”  said  George,  “ I bequeath  to  you 
my  corslet  and  my  sword;  and  I would  I had 
something  better  to  offer  you  for  the  good  wine 
you  have  given  me  so  kindly.” 

“ George,  my  friend,”  began  Beville  once 
more,  “ it  would  be  terrible  if  what  he  says  were 
true  . . . eternity ! ” 

“You  poltroon!” 

“Yes,  it  is  very  easy  to  say  ‘ poltroon,’  but 
poltroonery  is  allowable  when  it  is  a case  of 
suff ering  everlasting.  ’ ’ 

“ Well  then,  confess  yourself.” 

“ But — but — I pray  you  tell  me,  are  you 
sure  there  is  no  hell?  ” 

“ Bah!” 

“Nay,  but  answer.  Are  you  sure?  Give  me 
your  word  that  there  is  none.” 

“ I am  sure  of  nothing.  If  there  be  a devil, 
we  shall  see  whether  he  is  as  black  as  they  paint 
him.” 

“ What!  You  are  not  sure?  ” 

“ Confess,  confess,  I tell  you.” 

“ But  you  will  laugh  at  me?  ” 


326  A CHRONICLE  OF  THE 


The  captain  could  not  repress  a smile,  but 
then  he  said  in  a serious  tone,  “ If  I were  in 
your  place  I should  make  confession;  for  it  is 
the  safest  game  after  all,  and  once  shriven  and 
anointed,  one  is  ready  for  anything.” 

“ Well,  I will  do  as  you  do.  Confess  your- 
self first.” 

“ Not  I.” 

“ Faith,  then,  you  may  say  what  you  like, 
I will  die  a good  Catholic.  Come,  father,  hear 
me  say  my  confiteor , and  prompt  me  a little,  for 
I have  half  forgotten  it.” 

As  he  confessed  himself  Captain  George 
drank  another  sip  of  wine,  stretched  his  head 
on  his  uneasy  pillow,  and  shut  his  eyes,  remain- 
ing quiet  for  some  quarter  of  an  hour.  Then 
he  clenched  his  lips  and  shuddered  as  he  gave 
vent  to  a long  groan,  wrenched  from  him  by 
pain.  Mergy,  thinking  him  dying,  uttered  a 
cry  and  lifted  his  head.  But  the  captain  opened 
his  eyes. 

“ What,  again?  ” said  he  gently,  pushing 
him  back.  “ Pray,  Bernard,  be  calm.” 

“ George!  George!  and  you  are  dying  by  my 
hand!  ” 

“ What  then?  I am  not  the  first  Frenchman 
killed  by  a brother,  and  I do  not  think  I shall 
be  the  last.  Besides,  I have  none  but  myself  to 


REIGN  OF  CHARLES  IX  327 


blame.  When  Monsieur,  after  delivering  me 
from  prison,  took  me  with  him,  I swore  that  I 
would  never  draw  sword.  But  they  told  me  that 
this  poor  fellow  Beville  was  attacked,  and  when 
I heard  the  firing,  I took  a fancy  to  see  the 
thing  too  close.” 

He  shut  his  eyes  again,  but  opened  them 
once  more  to  say  to  Mergy,  “ Madame  de  Turgis 
bade  me  tell  you  that  she  loves  you  still.”  And 
he  smiled  kindly. 

These  were  his  last  words,  and  he  died  some 
quarter  of  an  hour  later  without  seeming  to  suf- 
fer much.  In  a minute  or  two  Beville  expired 
in  the  arms  of  the  monk,  who  afterwards  as- 
sured his  hearers  that  he  had  distinctly  heard 
in  the  air  the  joyful  cries  of  the  angels  who 
received  the  soul  of  this  repentant  sinner,  while 
the  devils  returned  a howl  of  triumph  from 
underground  as  they  carried  off  the  spirit  of 
Captain  George. 

It  may  be  seen  in  any  history  of  France  how 
La  Noue,  sick  of  civil  war,  and  tormented  by  his 
conscience  with  reproaches  for  fighting  against 
his  King,  quitted  Rochelle;  how  the  Catholic 
army  was  forced  to  raise  the  siege;  and  how 
the  fourth  peace  was  soon  followed  by  the  death 
of  Charles  IX. 

But  did  Mergy  console  himself?  And  did 


328 


A CHRONICLE 


Diane  take  another  lover?  I leave  these  ques- 
tions to  the  decision  of  the  reader,  who  can  thus 
in  every  case  suit  the  conclusion  of  the  story 
to  his  own  taste. 


UNIVERSfTY  OF  ILLINOIS-URBAN  A 


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